


Home

by cityofsourwolfrunners



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Natasha Romanoff - Fandom, Romanogers - Fandom, Steve Rogers - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ClinTasha if you squint, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, High School, Marvel - Freeform, Other Avengers Mentioned - Freeform, Pepper Potts - Freeform, Some Fluff, Teenagers, Thor - Freeform, clint barton - Freeform, cuteness, tony stark - Freeform, without superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4789820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cityofsourwolfrunners/pseuds/cityofsourwolfrunners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Best friends since childhood: Steve, Natasha and James were inseparable. But when tragic events occur Nat is forced out of herself, pushing and turning everybody away. Will Steve be able to get his Natty back? Or will the death of their best friend haunt them endlessly?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first day

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't get it out of my head! Just a small idea turning into a big idea! Xx

"Tag! You're it!" Natty ran, sprinting as fast as her little legs could carry her, but somehow James still managed to push her back. Natty turned, spying for the pillow of sun blonde hair, knowing how well Steve could hide.  
Being as small as he was, he couldn't run very far, however he always found the best hiding spots. 

When Natasha couldn't find him and James kept running away, she pulled out her clever tricks, her bottom lip curling downwards and her eyes bulging in size, all it took was one shaky breath and Steve dropped clumsily from the tree he'd previously been occupying.  
Quickly Natty turn and tagged him, before attempting to dash off but Steve, knowing her better than expected, was prepared. He jumped onto her back and the two children began running in laughter, James soon appeared and the laughter continued.

"Natasha!" Natty's mum yelled from the car-park, Natty turned back to her friends and waved before dashing away. Steve and James staring and watching the car until it was out of sight...

Natasha snapped awake, her breath hitched, wiping away the distant reverie as if it were a bead of sweat. Her shaky breath and damp skin portraying the memory as a nightmare, in a sense it was.  
Not that you'd be able to tell, unless you knew...

Glancing at the cloak Nat saw it was 5:24, she'd be getting up in an hour anyway, no point tossing and turning aimlessly whilst sleep mocked her pitiful attempts.  
Hurriedly Natasha pulled on her running clothes, with any luck she'd be able to catch the last few strands of the first sunrise of the new school year. The summer holidays officially ending last night but somehow seeming like years had separated the previous evening with this morning, this year Natasha would be a sophomore...this year things would be different, incomparably different.

Natasha gulped, exiting her house and shutting the door quietly behind her, knowing her mother would be getting up soon and that her father would have already left for work.  
Her jog to nowhere became a sprint as she neared the park; too many memories, too many emotions and connections. Her intended half an hour route turned into a 15 minute sprint as soon as she'd lapped the park twice before charging home, craving to push down the rising tears.

As she neared her door, Nat paused, turning to the neighbouring house and seeing a curtain tug tautly closed, his curtain.  
Figured he couldn't sleep, also.

Natasha returned inside and wordlessly ignored her curious mother, certain if she even paused for a morning smile; the iron sky threatening to wash away the sunshine would break her snapping resolve to continue.

Nat jumped into the shower, allowing the water to turn hot until it was scolding her skin, she stayed under the painful steam for several minutes before remembering how to detect a stimulus; flinching with the sudden heat she turned off the shower and escaped the gnawing questions eating away at her detached brain.

She dressed simply in black jeans and a red-checked shirt, pulling on her black converse and racing for the door before her mum called her back. Handing her forgetful daughter her school bag and an apple that would remain untouched.  
The arched eyebrows and frigid stance told Natasha that her mother was going to say something "You really don't have to go back today."

Nat licked her dry lips, fiddling with the apple in her hand "And what? Sit at home and stare out the window all day like you?" the retort obviously hurt her mum, though Nat made no move to comfort her, "Sorry mum...it's just, if I don't go back today I don't think I'll be able to tomorrow or the day after."

Her mother nodded, still offering her version of support "We could always try a different school? Maybe even home tuition?" Nat shook her head stubbornly, "You know Ja..." she gasped, almost choking on the word "You know he wouldn't want that."

After several shifts of her feet and avoided, caring glances Nat stared at her watch, before hugging her mum quickly, too quickly for either women to feel anything though her mother tried, she always tried - that was the one thing that always made Natasha feel bad, but so it seemed not guilty enough to try as much as she should - then as if she hadn't been there seconds ago, Nat exited her house - not home, house.

Truthfully, Natasha hadn't been there seconds ago, not the real Natasha. At least this Natasha told herself that, told herself that the old Natasha hadn't been round since the accident and if the days continued their dearie descend she wouldn't be returning anytime soon.

 

Natasha waited at the bus stop, only realising upon arrival that she was several moments too early.

By moments, she means hours. Nonetheless, Nat felt no need to return to her house, slowly she pulled her book out of her book and began scrolling aimlessly through the pages of meaningless text.  
She used to love reading, now she found the concept pointless and dull. She used to love a lot of things, but with one accident that was taken away, he was taken away and he took everything with him.

Blaming him was stupid and selfish, but she did it anyway.

Soon the numbing fog of boredom set in and her vision was clouded with the satisfying feeling of nothingness.

Natasha didn't notice the people arriving around her, she didn't notice the odd looks she got or the annoyed snide comments she received when ignoring their requests for her to budge up on the bench.  
It wasn't until a voice broke through her throats that she noticed the rumbling bus before her either.

"What?" She stuttered, her eyes focusing on the tall figure before her.

"Aren't you coming?" repeating the question allowed Natasha to hear it, really hear it. Her ears picking up the familiar but unheard tone instantly, her eyes brushed upon his face out of habit.

Suddenly the situation dawned on her and Natasha grabbed her book and bag, forgetting about the apple, and trudged onto the bus, neglecting to acknowledge the staring students.

She sat in an empty row in the middle of the bus, purposely shoving her back in the seat next to her.

Though that gesture was soon knocked rudely aside as Steve Rogers moved her rucksack onto the floor and sat next to her, holding her beaming apple whilst wearing a shiny smile.  
Just seeing his face made Natasha shiver, she pulled her shirt tighter around herself and accepted the apple. Somehow finding the hunger to eat it if only for the excuse of having something between her gnawing teeth.

Steve seemed to pick up her reluctance to talk immediately and followed her lead by resting silently for the remainder of the journey. Once they arrived at school and evacuated the bus, Steve turned to offer to walk Nat to her homeroom but Natasha had already fled the scene and was racing inside the building.

Homeroom was a dull as she remembered but luckily just as short, she soon found herself wondering off for her first period: Spanish.  
Natasha had always been a bright student, but she had always excelled at languages.

Once inside, Nat sat at the back of the class, hoping to sink into the scattered wall behind her. Once her class began Natasha found there were a few familiar faces, but the majority of people seemed to be knew; she was either ignored or unseen by both the teacher and students, lucky for her.

As the day continued its slow journey, Nat found herself with the majority of the same faces for her lessons.

All of whom she intended to avoid to the best of her ability.

At lunch Natasha sat alone in the corner, pushing her fruit salad around as if it were a jigsaw waiting to be finished.

Subtly a hand crept round her shoulder, stealing a piece of melon off her tray and then occupying the seat next to her. Nat looked, startled by the quick movement, her smart retort held on the tip of her tongue when she saw his familiar face.  
He'd been in all her lessons so far; he had blondie brown hair, dark, questioning eyes, a sneaky smirk at the ready and thick, furrowed eyebrows. He was draped in a colourful outfit, consisting of black, black and some more black.

Natasha was at a loss for words, her mouth grasping for something say. What did you say to a stranger who just stole some of your melon?

The boy continued to sit with his legs crossed, a glimpse of amusement in his glazed eyes whilst his tongue turned this way and that, fiddling with his teeth.  
Finally he caught the thread Natasha was so desperately reaching for "Oh, by the way I'm Clint, Clint Barton." he didn't offer his hand, but instead rested his feet against her chair, smiling a overly comfortable grin.

Nat's senses were drowned with the overly peppered tang of distaste, "Okay, well Barton why did you steal my melon?" He avoided the question.

"You didn't tell me your name."

"You just stole a piece of my melon, you haven't earned the privileged of receiving my name." His eyebrows arched daringly. Natasha repeated her previous question "Why did you steal my melon?"

Barton leaned back into his chair and shrugged "I was hungry." Natasha was going to say something else when she a got a strong urge not to, her eyes spinning from the deserting lunch line and Clint's craving eyes.  
Puffing out a false sigh of disgruntle, she pushed the remains of her lunch tray towards the boy.

At first he just stared at it and then back at the red head "I don't take pity."

Natasha pursed her lips "That word doesn't run in my vocabulary." She stood, collecting her few books "Either you get the leftovers, or they go in the trash." Her tone was final and as much as Nat wasn't in the mood for making friends she wouldn't let him go hungry.  
Before he could ruin the quant moment by thanking her or asking for her name again, Natasha fled the canteen.

Not noticing the statue still structure of a spying Steve Rogers.

Her last lesson of the day was history, yay!

History used to be her favourite lesson because it used to be Steve's and it used to be his.

Without a shadow of doubt, the three of them had been the teacher's pets if only in that one lesson, they'd always volunteer to do extra tuition, always stuck their hands up and were the first to hand in homeworks.  
But now...

Natasha didn't know what now would require, she certainly knew that none of those previous commitments and unspoken traditions would continue to commence. They'd soon fade away, as Nat feared his memory already was.

Last period ended with Natasha having her first assignment of the year and it was a partner assignment, the teacher had given them enough leeway to decide who they wanted to work with and at first Natasha had remained glued to her desk, watching and waiting as all the students jumped and leaped; their chatters to determine who worked with who an ocean of endless noise.

Once everybody had settled down, somewhat, Natasha turned seeing her lunch time...companion, making his way towards her. No, no no no! She didn't want this, this was what she didn't need.

Natasha just wanted to do her work, and do it alone.

She wasn't here to make friends, she wasn't here to make new bonds or relationships with people.

Quicker than a flash she jumped from her seat, corning the slightly stunned teacher "Sir, please can I do the assignment alone?" The teacher's head twisted to the right in a hard frown.  
"And why would you want to do that...Ms Romanoff, is it?" Natasha nodded once.

"I don't work well with others, sir."

The peak of a smile broke the hard scowl, that smile, the smile teacher's wore when they thought they had the solution. The one and only solution, the smile that said, 'I know, I'll bring the self-conscious girl out of her shell by pairing her up with some self-centred brat, who would most likely make her do all the work anyway.'  
That smile.

He pointed behind her at a doodling, hunched figure "Why don't you try working with Mr Rogers? Ms Helen told me how well you two collaborated last year." Their previous history teacher.

Nat stiffened a tremble of complaint and cocked her eyebrows when Steve's head picked up, feeling as if someone were looking at him. As if reading the situation off an instruction manual, he smiled and motioned for her to sit with him.

Maybe working with food boy would have been better after all

 

Natasha and Steve ended up walking back to their houses together, neither discussing the day.  
They just reached the beginning of their street when Steve muttered "You know he cared for you?"

Nat stopped in her tracks, frozen in fear of what he was going to reveal.

Steve continued "He told me, the night before the...um" he scratched at the nap of his neck, struggling to form a sentence.  
Natasha bit her lip "Can we, can we not talk about this?"

Steve nudged his head as if to say, yes, but then his lips changed their mind. "I'm guessing you haven't been doing a lot of that?"

She played dumb "A lot of what?"

"Thinking of him."

Nat continued walking, a faster pace and need to get behind a closed door pumping her heart as her veins filled with a sickening kind of adrenaline.  
"Actually, yes I have. All I've done is think of him."

Steve was straining to keep pace with her "Did you feel the same..."

Anger burst through a punctured vein "I said can we not talk about it!" She spun on her heel, her anger peeling like a dead layer of skeletal skin off her grave face.

"Talk about it or him?" The light-hearted, friendly vibe had been extinguished from his tone, which was now as hard as steel.

"What's the difference?" She spat harshly, now round the corner from her drive.

"The difference is that one is a person and the other was an accident, Natty." The word slipping from his mouth as easily as a greeting, though he hadn't ushered the word since they were children; younger, filled with more promise and innocence.

"DO not call me that!" She snarled, flinching from the own venom burning against her tongue, it dripping from her lips, leaking like the gas she so easily breathed in and out.  
She turned her back to him, fishing her house key from the blue mushroom by her feet.

"Look don't worry about the assignment, I'll do it and you can take the credit yeah?" She didn't wait for a response, and if she'd gotten one the slamming of a door had concealed it from her ears.  
She was pressed against the door, thinking if she made the tiniest of movements his shadow outside would collapse her cover.  
How did she know he was still out there you might ask?  
She could feel it, feel his eyes burning a whole through the glass material into the back of her neck, feel him huffing out a breathless sigh as the weight of her harsh maturity boor down onto his sturdy shoulders.

Sensing his moving silhouette Nat found strength in her legs and moved to the kitchen, spotting a note decorated in her mothers recognisable writing:

Gone next door, come round when you're ready, early tea xx

Natasha's eyes rolled back into her head as the deepest of aggressions was poured out into the smallest of groans.  
An hour later, after washing and dancing around homework and study, she redressed in a pair of navy blue casual shorts and a white long sleeved T-shirt, Nat grabbed her history and English books and knocked lightly on the Rogers door.

It was soon answered by a gushing Sarah, who pulled Natasha into the strongest of hugs. Nat found herself guilty of returning the gesture and then waving to her mum before motioning to her books and Steve's room upstairs.

Quietly she crept up the comforting creaky staircase, her feet finding all the familiar quiet patches in the worn floorboards. She turned to his pristine white door and knocked three times, only three.  
There was a slight pause before he answered, wearing his practice clothes.  
Natasha shrugged warmly, feeling awkward on some many levels when Steve stood surprised by her appearance.

"Umm, we're having tea here, so I thought we could do...er, homework?" She coughed, rubbing her eyebrow, and standing to the left, turning as if to go.

"Sorry, stupid idea." With the distance Natasha put between their encounters you wouldn't have thought they'd been friends since childhood.

Steve frowned "No, no. I told the boys I'd be down the park for a private practice, but umm...I can cancel." He opened the door wider and moved so she could step in.  
Nat visibly gaped upon walking into the room, causing Rogers to chuckle.

"A bit different from what you remember?" Spying the only memorable thing in the room, a photo: of her, Steve and James, brought her stiff demeanour back.

"Just a bit. You really don't have to cancel, I can...wait here?" She pondered, Steve nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I'll...er...be back in an hour. You can get started or, read, TV whatever." Natasha bit her lip, nodding strongly and only after he'd retreated down the hallway did she stop shaking her head.


	2. Remincising

During Steve's absence Natasha managed to crack on with her English homework and begin the plan for the history assignment; it would be a lot easier with Steve here, after all he was a lot better at history than she was.

But for that brief 10 or 20 time period where she was alone with nothing to do and not being able to face the parents downstairs, Nat found herself fixated with that picture.  
They had been 14 years old, two years ago, and at the town fair. It was mid September, right before they'd be returning to school and begin high school.

Natasha remembered how nervous they'd been, however they'd managed to push away their growing anxieties for one last night of - what they'd called then - freedom. She'd give anything to go back to those times...

A cough from behind alerted Natasha of Steve's return, it was only as her eyes travelled up his flustered, red cheeked, sweaty form that she realised she'd taken the photo frame from the wall and was curled on Rogers' bed with her fingers wrapped around the memory.  
Quickly she placed it back in its place "Sorry."

He shook his head vaguely, "You seemed to be off in your own little world." he stepped fully into the room, retrieving fresh items from his Chester draws so that the statement could appear less intrusive if his back was to her.  
Natasha tried to silence her gulp "I do that a lot these days."

Steve smiled back at her clouded eyes, underwear in hand. Natasha's cheeks went red "Oh, do you want me to leave so you can get changed?" she then scolded herself continuously as his flustered face turned a darker shade, Of course Nat, had to embarrass him in his own home.

Steve bit his lip "No, I'm just going to grab a quick shower. When I'm done we can start the history?" His eyebrow mid arch, Nat nodded somehow still unsure.

During his short shower Natasha interrogated herself: when had this horizon of awkwardness set? Yes, they'd both lost Ja...

Her thought was cut off, sliced in two as she heard a knock at the door. Her eyes picking up as familiar voices echoed from the hallway, No...no...no! 

Natasha quietly ran to the landing, staring down the stairs and spying two slender figures, both wearing the same shiny mane of brown hair. Behind her the bathroom door opened, Nat's eyes glimpsing a toned muscular body like a silver coin in the compost.  
It took all her willpower to not do a double take, instead focusing on the issue at hand; you can dream of Steve's six-pack later Nat! 

Steve soon joining her on the landing - Sure stand closer to me barely naked - his ears piquing at the mundane voices. Nat questioned him crudely "Did you know they'd be coming?"  
Steve shook his head viciously, the equal level of worry reflected in his eyes told her he wasn't lying; even if he was she could always tell.

They both flinched away from the sudden loudness of Sarah's call "Steve, Natty! Dinner!" To hide away from the possibility of being seen spying from the hall, the pair spun and stepped backwards. Now face to face, with Steve's chest a consistent distraction.  
She could feel his toned muscles clawing for her attention and it took everything she had to not give in to the crave.

"I'm going to go get changed." He finally found his voice after his lips casually forming shapes but no sound escaping.  
Nat kept her eyes locked on his in an almost steel stare - she couldn't even risk one small glance for fear the whole bridge would topple under the pressure of the nagging current, pulling her eyesight down - "I'll wait out here."

There was no way Natasha could face Mr and Mrs Barnes alone.  
Steve of course understood and quickly retreated to his room, dressing in stealth speed.

Ouch, when had Bucky's parents gone to Mr and Mrs? Nat swallowed the lump rising in her throat, the last time she'd seen the Barnes it had been at the start of the summer when all had been well, after the accident she'd heard odd snippets or mentions between her parents. However she hadn't seen them in so long, Natasha couldn't put her finger on the reasoning, though.

Promptly, Steve returned offering a politely rehearsed smile. The pair then proceeded down the stairs into the lively living room and where rushed into stiff welcomes, Sarah then cornered the group into the dining room and everybody found their places.

At the head of the table sat Joseph, who had welcomed Nat with a warm hug, then adjacent to him sat Steve, Natasha and Nat's mum with one empty seat next to her. Then opposite those three sat Sarah, James and Barbra Barnes with one empty seat next to Barbra.  
Natasha stiffed at the lack of two presences; James and her father.

Joseph then proceeded to say Grace which set Natasha's jaw on edge.

They'd always been a religious family, all of them...but when Bucky had passed...ever since the accident Natasha had struggled to find her reasoning for pouring so much energy and effort into the belief.

If there was a God, why would he punish them like this?

The family began chipping away at the cave of food Sarah had prepared for them, the majority of persons dependent on Sarah to fill in the frequent silences.

During the hampered evening Nat kept her eyes down, not immune to the attention she was attracting. Since she hadn't seen the Barnes in so long, her sudden divergence from the ambitiously cautious, always bewildering persona to this quiet, cornered animal must be incredibly stunning and somewhat unsettling.

Natasha's mum, seeing where this drowning dialogue was heading, trapped Sarah and Barbra into an immediate conversation as James and Joseph erupted in laughter at a concealed joke.  
Steve leaned closer to Nat, his voice stirring her red locks "You okay?"

Natasha took several seconds to compose herself, only to assure her voice wouldn't give her discomfort - or her extended comfort - away.  
"I'm fine...just," she tried to corrupt an excuse "We need to get this history done."

Steve nodded strongly, leaning back into his own personal bubble.

A disarming cough caught her previously stolen attention and Nat's vision flew to a patiently waiting Barbra, who seemed to be mainly addressing Steve and Natasha. "I know, these past few months have been a strain on all of us." Her hand entwined with her husbands' "But it really does mean a lot that...we can still do this, gather as a family and honour James' memory."

Mrs Barnes' eyes travelled over the empty space next to her, everybody else's glazed orbs following - the fact that opposite that chair was her father's deserted one made Natasha fill with a another nest of nerves.

Barbra continued strongly, obviously not having mourned her son, but having sheered enough tears to not let stragglers break through the boundaries. "Well, his birthday is coming up" Nat bit sharply into her lip "And we'd love it if we could all go out for diner or..." her voice broke abruptly and Sarah took her hand firmly.

"We'd love to!" At exactly that moment Natasha had had enough, she stood up, noticing all eyes looking at her; her mother's piercing her sharply. Hoping to cover for her, Steve jumped up as well, his hand resting on Nat's small shoulder knowing just how much his former best friend wished to remove it.

Steve stuttered "We've er...of course we'll be honoured to come and celebrate Buck's..." his voice raising a pitch and for a flinching second Natasha saw Steve's true face; the one he didn't let anybody see; the one holding the key to his pain.  
"We just have some homework to be finishing, if you'll excuse us?" The thin line of Joseph's questioning brow softened a fracture and the two teens soon disappeared up the stairs, thankful for the excuse to shut the door.

 

"No!"

"I told ya, Stacey McGreenboggie has the hots for me." Clint burped loudly, taking another sip from his milk.

Nat wiped away the heavy stench. "Would you stop?"

He inquired "Or what?"

"Or I won't let you sit with me at lunch anymore."

Clint sniggered piggishly "Oh, because you've got a number of people waiting for that invitation, have you?"

Nat ignored him "And for the record, it's McGreenburg."

Barton shrugged nonchalantly, not caring who heard "Sure it is."

Nat hummed in false agreement "You sound as convinced as I am about her supposedly having the hots for you."  
His hands fumbled over the air in exasperation, he chanted loudly "She does!" Natasha laughed wholeheartedly before catching herself, her smile quickly vanishing.

\- This had sort of turned into a day to day thing, her sitting with Clint at lunch and giving him her leftovers. They were mid way into their second week back at school now, and at the beginning of the week Nat had even started bringing in her own packed lunch and still buying one from the canteen just so he could eat something. At first he'd strongly objected until Nat had threatened to inform Bobbi Morse of his growing affection. Not that he'd told her, at least not by that point in their bizarre pairing, but it wasn't hard to decipher.

Another tradition that was setting in stone was Barton's ability to make her laugh, not just a few polite chuckles here and there, but an actual Natasha Romanoff laugh (yes, one that occasionally chorused several snorts from her squinting nose and plump lips) -

Clint was also getting prone to this, not always hearing the reluctant sigh or seeing the light that brightened her eyes fade but just predicting that soon it would come to an inevitable stop.

Once again he pushed himself to ask, knowing if he kept up his persistence she'd most definitely spill...or punch him. Either way would portray progress though. He lifted his lean legs off the chair, following her lead as they headed off for Chem, "Why do you do that Tasha?"

\- also a new ritual, Barton finding as many possible new names for her that he could that she'd still respond to. So far he was at five, sweet cheeks had been a sour blow (at Barton's face) -

She glided her way gracefully through the crowded hallways, neglecting the swards of laughing teenagers.  
"Do what, birdbrain?"  
Clint gritted his teeth at the nickname, he should have never told her he was part of the archery club and was referred to as Hawkeye by all members. He stared at her for several more seconds, waiting for it. "That! Right there!" He pointed as the amusement in her shiny orbs was literally concealed by the pressing clouds.

"You close yourself off, like you feel guilty for smiling."

"You're imagining things Barton."

"No I'm not, I know Natasha."

Her tone dripped in pitch "Is this like the time you knew the school was feeding us bats?"

Clint changed topics "Have you tried their lasagne? I'm telling you, it's bat in pasta!"

"No I haven't, I'm buying you food, remember?" Clint scowled at the reminder, then a gasp burst from his lips.

"Stop changing the subject Nat!"

"Then stop letting it be changed."

"Whatever okay, Nat I know you. I notice when you go silent and-" Nat stopped listening, her fingers running over the adjacent wall, they then turned into their Chem class and sat at their regular seats; Nat on the second row in the corner with Barton behind her.  
Which during their first lesson he'd used to his advantage of getting her to talk to him by repeatedly kicking her chair.

Clint's droll was background noise, a constant ache, like a prick in her side - literally the description she'd given her mother when she first mentioned Barton - Natasha pouted her lips as the door opened and Bruce Banner wondered in, usually the first one to arrive to class.  
He was in the seat before Nat, both friends waved kindly to the kind boy. Bruce motioned to the endless moans pouring from Clint's lips.

She turned back to her only friend, snapping "Shut up Clint!"

Clint paused his rant "Hey Brucie, good weekend?"

Exactly on cue Pepper Potts marched into the room with Tony Stark hot on her tail.  
"Mine was ravishingly dull!" The rich kid muttered sarcastically.

Nat drew her eyebrows together, feeling her patience for today already at it's maximum elasticity "Really?" eyeing Pepper who took her seat next to Clint. Whilst Tony sat on the row behind.

Stark yelled from the back of the class as more students filled in. "NO! It was fucking awesome!"

"Mr Stark, detention for fowl language!" Tony, along with everybody else, stiffened and turned to the open door to see a grinning Steve with his hands raised in victory for his teacher impersonation.

"Not funny Rogers." Stark mumbled.

Steve then sat next to Bruce and finally Thor walked into the class, arriving just before the overly laid back teacher. Thor smiled whilst siting next to Natasha, not catching her dry expression and not smelling her radiating need to get out of this dull lesson.

 

Like any other lesson, Natasha left not remembering a single thing from the hour period. She'd just copy Clint's notes like usual. She sat next to Steve on the bus - or better put, he sat next to her - in silence as usual. Once they were dropped off at their stop he started talking, asking her about her day.

Natasha recited the day's dullness as if it were a shopping list drilled into her brain and then resumed rushing to return back to her house.

Letting Barton in was one thing, she was still undecided about whether it was good or bad that she'd done so.

But no way was she letting Rogers in or anybody else for that matter; with Steve it was too rich. The history was too much, the accident was as fresh in her mind as the smell oozing off the freshly cut lawn.

As if he could read her thoughts, Steve pondered "So you and Barton ha?" Nat turned, her hands clinging tightly to her library of books; knuckles white.

"Clint and I, what?" Her tone uncomfortably rude.

They'd both reached their destined destinations and now faced the awkward position of standing in front of their closed doors, waiting for the conversation to end before either could leave.

Steve's foot kept kicking stones and gravel across the drive, his hands clenched in his pockets, head bowed "You seem...close." Nat puffed out her chest, sighing in an exaggerated annoyance.

"You could say that." Nat began to wonder "Why are-" but was interrupted.

"We used to be close." Natasha's open mouth closed in a thin line of disapproval.

"Yeah, we did Steve" As painfully clumsy as it was to just be stood there, watching as the silence built staring statues around them, Nat didn't have the heart to look away.  
Even as Steve retreated to the shadow of his front door and even after he had shut it firmly, Natasha hadn't moved. It was only then that Nat noticed the car parked in front of her drive way, the inelegant emotions she'd twisted to Steve's unusual revelation fleeing from her brain.

Natasha darted inside, the door only just closing behind her as she entered the gloomy lounge, curtains closed.

"Dad?" She called out; uncertain.

A sharp tilt of a bottle and the crashing sounds of moving liquid was her only response, she turned, squinting into the darkness and only just catching the silhouette of her farther.  
He was hunched over, still in yesterday's business suit, dark shadows stalking his haunted eyes. Splinters of stubble growing from his chin, he stank; the stench clinging to his skin like aftershave escaping from the bottle of liquor he'd acquired in his hand.

Several deep swigs of the poison satisfied his thirst; he leaned further forwards, almost toppling over. "Natasha?" he called, his voice sheepishly wispy, Nat could almost see the tentacles of alcohol sticking to the air.

Nat moved forward, her shaking hand reaching for the near empty bottle. But a sharp jerk of his wrist had her flinching away as a waterfall of sorts landed upon her, draping her in the drowning odour of a run-down pub.  
Natasha moaned loudly and abruptly she was pulled away by her mother who ushered her upstairs and whispered "I'll handle this" before slamming the door.

Moments later, Nat was dialling Clint's number.

Two beeps in a breathless greeting hit her ear "Hey, Tash."

Natasha's voice came out as a barely audible whisper "Clint?" she'd called him and yet she sounded unsure as to who she was speaking with, great! 

"Yes...look Nat," a big puff of air "I'm kinda in the middle of something here."

Natasha cringed horribly "Eww, you're not having sex are you?" A cattle of snorts, chuckles and sneers responded; he wasn't alone and apparently neither was their conversation.

"No" his tone desperate to amend the slip up in events "Hey..." his ears must have finally detected the shudder in her voice, the occasionally hitched breath. "You alright?"

Natasha paused, and that was all it took. "Are you at home? I'm coming over."

Nat bit her lip, "No, no...it's fi-"

"Shut up Natasha, I'll be there in 10." he practically shouted, one final grunt escaping his lips before the call ended.


	3. Saturated in misery

I just want to say thank you to all the comments and to RollinWithCodineAndASwisha don't worry they will definitely be getting closer and I agree it seems like they hardly know each other at the moment, however that is intentional. I wanted the death of their closest friend to separate them and change them, so then when they try to come back they need each other to do so. Xx

Ps, sorry about no update the other day, let's just say excesses homework has gotten to a ridiculous level!

Immediately Clint shot up from his crouch on the soggy ground, his clothes drenched in a thick layer of clingy mud. Nodding his head to Steve, the team Captain, he grabbed his training bag and proceeded through the park.

Behind him, Barton heard a hearty yell "That's it for the day, see you all same time tomorrow." And then pounding footsteps caught up to his own racing pace.

Steve's feet were a cacophony of careless strides, he appeared in Clint's vision. "Everything alright Barton?"

Clint braced himself, keeping his chin straight, his pace - if possible - quickening "Yeah, just gotta check on something." Rogers made a disgruntled sound, to which Barton responded "Why?"

Steve licked his moist lips "Just leaving practice a bit earlier than usual, first game of season around the corner and all..."

"I understand, Rogers I won't let the team down. But, well like I said something urgent I need assisting." Steve's nodding of understanding was eviscerated as he noted Barton's journey down Steve's own neighbourhood.  
Steve tried to keep his voice neutral, "What do you need to check on, if you don't mind me asking?" But to put it flagrantly, Steve sounded intrusive.

Clint obviously noticed and decided there was no way of Rogers' not knowing, and what was the point of lying anyway? That way he'd suspect there was something to hide.

"Not what, who." Answering his unasked enquiry Clint responded "Nat...I think something has happened at home."

Instantly a bucket of melancholy washed over Steve's readable features and the tone of his voice was painted in worry "Well is she-"

"I don't know Rogers, that's why I'm rushing." They sprinted up the driveway, Clint turning a second after banging on the door, "Look Steve, I get that you two were best friends or whatever.."

Steve challenged Clint "Yes, we were. Which is why-"

"Which is why she called me instead of you?" Clint's eyebrows arched, his sneer simplified to an echo of regret "Look man..." he scrambled for assurance "I'll...I'll get her to call you later."

Steve's spirit sagged, his shoulders scrunching like a sheet of wrinkled bedding. But a rocked chin and retreating shadow presented Clint with an understanding, abruptly Natasha's door opened and Barton was dragged inside and paraded up the stairs.

 

Natasha slammed her bedroom door firmly, her body heaving against it, fearing the skimmed air could shove it back open.

Clint looked down at her with noting eyes, his mind scrolling down fractures and angles of her wavering features. Finally her eyes met his and she spoke in a shaky tremor "You really didn't have to come."

"It's fine" he nudged away the presumed attempt at an apology "What's going on anyway?"

Nat hesitated, sitting on the edge of her bed and when Barton went to do the same she shook her head, pointing at his muddy attire "What have you been doing? I thought you told me, you hadn't been having sex-"

Clint grimaced noticeably, raising his hand "Natasha! I haven't been having sex in the mud, okay? And would you stop changing the topic, please?" She rolled her eyes, itching with annoyance.

"Fine! But seriously why do you look like you've been dragged through a field of shit?"

"Because" Barton scrunched his face up in mock fright, then relaxing his shoulders as prevarication danced along his brow "Well, technically I was dragged through a field and I was, uh...at the park" Natasha crossed her arms perfunctorily, pushing Clint to just tell her.

Sigh "I was at football practice" A feeling of ignominy set in motion as her shoulders shook with laughter, pure, musical. A laugh so silvery and delightful to the ears it couldn't possibly have come from a human.

"You see, this is why I didn't want to tell you." Nat's mouth quivered into a pleasured grin, her hand knocking Barton's still structure as he stood, determined not to join in on the laughter.

"Awwww, No Clint it's not that-" a snort erupted from her nose and this time Clint exploded in laughter when Natasha, startled, covered her nose and mouth with a flat hand "Funny-" she slapped his hand "I just...didn't have you pegged for a football player, that's all."

Barton couldn't help but reveal the cloud of curiosity "What did you have me pegged for?"

Lacking interest Nat shrugged at which point Barton returned to his justification for cutting practice short "Now tell me what's wrong?"

Natasha shrugged half-heartedly "Nothing...I just...It's my dad, he's been drinking a lot" her eyes averted busily "all the time actually, ever since...James"

That's the only thing she needed to say, the only name she had to utter for Barton to back off.  
Usually.

Clint prodded bravely "Tasha, did...did he hurt you?" His voice barely audible.

Shocked, Nat shook her head viciously. Almost hurt with the assumption, Barton then did sit on the bed next to her, as much to Nat's distaste. Clint shook his head at her gesture to remove himself "What do you want me to do, take my pants off?" Natasha gagged and received a grumble from Clint.

"He just" Clint observed silently, allowing the pray to come to him, willingly as apposed to one of them - most likely him - loosing an arm. "My dad has taken the accident harshly, he blames himself."

Why? 

Barton wasn't aware he'd actually gasped the lexis until she responded "He...when James die-passed" the euphemism choking her, a shaky sigh escaping her mouth "It was a car crash. At the beginning of the summer, my dad took the boys: Steve and James, to watch a baseball game." she didn't have to say anymore and Barton got the feeling she didn't want to, he trudged forward, watching the saturation of misery drown her was too painful.

Clint wrapped his arms comfortably around her and at first Natasha was as stiff as a statue and then she came to life, sinking into it and letting him comfort her.

Clint got the impression it was one of the first hugs she'd accepted since the accident.

 

Natasha's lapse into weakness was short lived.

As soon as she could she ordered Barton home, claiming his smell was assaulting her nostrils. She then stormed onwards, avoiding both parents - not that her dad had been in the house much since that evening - to her maximum ability.

Soon enough the week ebbed away, following closely by the weekend and before Nat knew it: it was James' birthday.

The day before what would have been his 16th birthday, Natasha was a sobbing mess.

Everything hurt, she couldn't even eat, though her mother tried tediously.  
Besides her mum returning throughout the day with stacks of food, she was a shadow, a creek in the floorboards, the running of a deep bath, but never seen. Natasha was grateful, it seemed her mother was finally accepting that Natty would never be returning.

 

Natasha gasped, a tremendous blast of breath as her nerves steeled.  
They - Nat, her mother and surprisingly father - arrived outside the restaurant at precisely 6 o'clock, the arranged time to meet at the Green Branch - James' favourite restaurant, at least that's what his parents believed, Nat and Steve had known differently:  
James just liked an old fashioned dinner with a grilled cheese and strawberry cheesecake, but this...was nice; it was formal, polite, friendly, quaint and lacking the relaxing vibe that radiated off every hair on James' body, his presence always left this; mist of warmth.

Nat was dressed smartly in a simple navy blue dress that was long sleeved and high collared, flaming out into pleats at her knees. Her hair was in its usual curls, except they were longer; she wore no make up.

Steve smiled upon seeing the bouncing flames of light, he was draped in black shirt and trousers, standing with his family.  
Lead by Barbra Barnes they all hurried inside, Mr Barnes escorting Natasha as he used, his arm linked with hers. Though she tried to smile warmly she wouldn't shake the feeling of each person more desperate to enter if only the could soon exit.

The meal was accompanied by polite, awkward laughter and a cacophony of memories.

Afterwards, when the parents began to sober up slightly, turning back to emotionally serious affairs, Natasha and Steve exited the restaurant.  
Both slightly too breathless from a simple evening meal, without a word they trailed their way through the garden, stopping by the entrance to the small jumble of trees. Without realising their fingers entwined, just like they used to:

Natasha remembered their usual routine, the images glimpsing through her mind displaying varying stages of childhood, almost every Sunday between the ages of 6 - 12; after morning mass the Barnes, Romanoffs and Rogers would walk from the peaceful church to this restaurant for a dependable lunch.

But just like back then, when the three children were finished eating they'd escape the traditions of polite manners and dash to the woods, it seemed so much bigger back then...Nat's fingers were simply following regular ritual of tangling themselves with Steve's, just like back then neither noticed the gesture.

They soon found their tree, the one wearing the now worn tattoos displaying each of the children's engraved initials, Natasha's fingers graced over each caving before following a climbing Rogers.  
They climbed up easily until they reached a small tree house, their inappropriate attire holding neither back.

The room suddenly several sizes too small, it would have never fit all three of them now; Natasha hovered over that thought.

The wood of the hut was fading in colour and too squeaky for much security, but Nat didn't mind, so what if they fell through a tree? Their movements were in synch as the pair lay backwards, their heads staring directly up into the open roof.  
The trajectory of their vision landing right on the illumination of the twinkling lights, the stars casting a spotlight on their slightly trembling positions.

They stayed still like that for a while, but when the breeze became too threatening for a simple dress and shirt, Steve inched closer to her.  
His shoulder brushing hers, subconsciously Natasha lent her head to the right, resting against his sturdy support.  
Remembering things as they used to he, so simple: several years, god even a few months ago she would have done such an act without a wrenching hand tightening around her stomach.

But things were so simple then, almost overly so...the scales had to tip at some point right?

She almost flinched away from her own thought, but didn't.

As a shiver cascaded through her body Steve sat up, Nat's body copying his movements and his arm gingerly crept around her back, pulling her closer. Natasha's head found the crook of his neck and allowed the comfort to wash over her, saturate her skin.  
Sometimes, the soft sound of breathing is all the comfort in the world, where only the perfunctory notions of bustling wildlife and the overwhelmingly joying thump of a heart are required.

That moment was then ruined by Rogers "What...what was your favourite memory about him?"

Nat duelled on the illusion of being deaf, or thrilled in the prospect of just...not replying.

But she did, because his translucent eyes were seeping into the seeds of her brain, like rain water. "His ability to lighten up a room, James could walk into any scenario, no matter how tense and just...evaporate it."

Steve made as if to respond, then paused, sighed and responded anyway "Why...why do you call him James?"  
Nat almost retorted with 'that's his name' but thought better of it. "He was never Bucky to me, that was never my name for him,"

"You used to call him Bucky"

"Yes" closed eyes "yes I did, but that was before..."

"The accident"

She shook her head bracing herself and feeling every muscle tense, every hair stand to attention every patch of uncovered skin invaded by goose bumps.  
"You know...the first day back at school," her throat threatened to throttle the tone, crushing her words beneath the weight "when you told me he had strong feels for me? Well I knew about them."  
The orchestra started, the flashback running before either attendants had even taken their seats:

Nat froze, her ears closing at the force of his tone. "You what?" 

Bucky remained still, his fingers brushing against his rosy cheeks, trying to wipe away the flustering fear. "I like you" Desperate the uncertainty of his exterior, his voice was a cool as ice, his words as cocky as...well as James was, Nat had never met a more confident boy in her life, though it was a short one.

She was at the grand age of 14, nearly 15. 

Her and Bucky had just been walking back from the park, on their way over to Steve's when Bucky had stopped her, pulled her to face him fully and spoke the words:

"I like you" He repeated impatiently.

Natasha panicked slightly, a tremor of fear entering her veins. "And I like you too Buck..."

Bucky stared down at her hard, for several seconds before his eyes admitting defeat. Quickly he continued walking, trying to shake off his shadow of ignominy. 

Nat grabbed his arm, stilling him "Hey..." he simply shook her off before continuing on his walk.

As if she'd prodded him with a stick, or maybe just an overly large sigh of annoyance he turned to face her, angry. "I thought..." he trailed off, calming down and stepping closer to her.  
Natasha did the same, wanting to relieve the stress of her friend, her hand finding his "James...look I love you and I always will. But not in the way you want me to" 

His eyes sagged and he whispered to her "Why?"

Nat shrugged uselessly "I look at you...like a brother, a best friend"

He muttered something she hadn't quite caught under his breath, or maybe she just hadn't wanted to catch what he said. Either way his smile returned, a little flutter present at the twitching corners, but his shoulders definitely stood straighter, as if a weight he hadn't been aware of carrying was lifted away.

"I never called him Bucky after that..."

Steve looked at her, instead of the sad eyes she'd envisioned, his were almost disappointed, accusing "You stopped thinking of him as Bucky, our Bucky just because he told you" but then he caught himself, seeking forgiveness immediately.

Natasha gave it to him, her body turning back to the side, separating from his.

Then a feather of skin caressed her shoulder, she leaned into his uplifting touch. "I didn't mean to snap, I was just shocked."

Natasha nodded, scooting until her legs dangled out of the tree house, she began to climb down, not looking up until her feet were firmly on the ground. She wasn't surprised to see he had followed.  
Slowly they began making their way back to the restaurant.

"So...did he ever mention the conversation again?" Steve was vividly curious at the side of his two best friends which had previously been non-existent to him mere moments ago.

"Once more, when" she was pained to recall it "you two were in the hospital, you were still in hospital, he was in recovery. He reminded me of the conversation, though a year had passed I don't think either of us could even dream of forgetting a single detail. He spoke as if he knew he was going, though the nurse said he would be fine..." The nurse lied, maybe not intentionally, but still.

Steve didn't ask anything else as they approached the glowing lights of the lively restaurant, though Natasha could feel his longing to.

"I didn't have the heart to be truthful, I was so worried about you both...I thought I'd lost you." I kissed him, a chaste movement but still a kiss...her first.

As if sensing their return the parents finally clawed their way free from the sticky tentacles, the group started their goodbyes, hugs and waves were dished out openly.  
They each then headed for their cars, Natasha hesitating with Steve slightly, before pulling him into an unexpected hug. During which she breathed in his scent, allowing her lungs to grasp onto the familiar and yet not so scent that floated around his body.  
She drew back slightly, tilting her head up towards his.

They were very close...too close, closer than they'd been in a long time and just when Steve's chin nudged downwards, Nat let go. Walking away quickly and quietly into the darkness.


	4. On the road

"So, Romanoff, I heard you and Rogers got pretty cosy the other day." Natasha glared at her only friend, her shoulders tensing fractionally.

"What are you talking about?" The tremendous blast of cold breath ebbing off her sharp retort weaving through Clint's skin, into his body, holding him in an icy possession.

Which apparently he was oblivious to: "Well the way Steve was talking about you the other night at training...sounded as if you'd stolen his V card." The crudeness radiating off Natasha's snigger of mockery was weakened by the shade of red smothering her cheeks.  
Clint paused, mid-stretch, to marvel at her. "By Golly!" Nat's colour drained, her lips a sharp, straight, thin line down the paper. "You've got it in for the Captain!" Her breath hitched and smoke blew from her ears, eyes matching the ferocity of the red sparks blazing from her head.

"I have not." Did her voice really sound like such a liability? 

A cacophony of chuckles, cackles and coughs castigated through her ear, making her shoulders inch higher. She was tempted to end the sound, any means necessary. Then Barton seemed to get the message because he dialled down the teasing, mildly. "Wow, you're full of surprises...Tash" He dragged out the pronouncing of her nickname, enjoying the wedges of frustration creasing her brow.

Instead of furthering her anger, or masking it, Natasha chose to seek interest in the meaning behind his latest...accusation.  
"What do you mean? Full of surprises, what's so surprising about me and..." she caught herself "Rogers and supposedly" emphasising the last lexis "myself, hmm?"

Clint stared at her for several elongated seconds, his face so translucent you could see the wheels desperately trying to catch up to the motor "What?" he grumbled, but before the impatient redhead could answer a whistle hit them both.  
The whining plastic making them both flinch out of their previous conversation and turn to see Coach staring at the group of stretching teenagers with a high enough level of distain in his eyes to ask, why did you become a teacher?

"Alright, line up!" His voice scratched and clawed against a chalk board and sheepishly slowly, the group of teenagers grouped into a zigzaggy form of line, Coach - though due to his producing belly he didn't deserve the title linking towards; fitness, exercise, youth, health - seemed to step further into perfunctory as each excruciating breath of air dragged on and on and on.

Somehow the man managed to herd the students into five groups of six. The last group consisting of late pupils, forgotten kitters and the obviously unfit.

Natasha was disgruntled to witness Barton being chaperoned into the opposing group to hers; despite his annoyance, she shouldn't complain, after all she did this to herself, making him her one and only friend and all, though if she really wanted to she could easily change that, but she didn't - believe it or not but Natasha found the foreign feeling of a selfish need to keep Clint to herself, he may be as goofy as a hat and ignorant as the clouds, but he was there for her and she loved him for it.

Coach was going to make them play football, seriously? 

And apparently he'd split the teams up as fairly as possible, though it was odd that the quarterback along with fellow football players: Wilson, Rhodey, Barton and several others ended up on the same team.  
Natasha then saw her own and her sigh almost melted them into the ground: Tony Stark, both Maximoff siblings, Jane, Banner and at least they had Thor, their one and only - besides Pietro - football team player.  
She guessed it could have been worse, except...except these people were the closest she had to a group of friends.

The term 'friends' was ushered very loosely, she didn't hang out with them outside of school or even sit with them at lunch, though Barton had been offered a seat more than once.  
Her 'friendship' with them mostly consisted of smiling politely in the corridors and seating opposite each other in silence when occupying the library for study.

It wasn't like they didn't welcome her, if anything she'd warded herself away - though she knew that door would always remain open - not wanting to enter anything so...warming after the accident.  
It was stupid but, she felt bad.

What was she meant to do? Three of the closest people in her life had gotten into a car crash, taking one away and forever changing the remainders because of the fact that; they survived and he hadn't.  
Whilst all Natasha could have done and all she did was watch, it was ridiculous how helpless she felt. Even though James would want her to continue with her life and make as many new friends as possible, it felt wrong.

God it felt so wrong, to her, continuing, moving forward, making new connections meant hiding her past, meant forgetting and acting as if it had never happened. Therefore acting as if he had never happened.  
So she hadn't done it, she hadn't made those people her friends because of the guilt choking her at the thought let alone notion.

However, she allowed herself the privilege of Barton, because it was pointless punishing herself completely. Nothing, nothing! Nothing, was going to bring him back, it was too little too late and in all honesty she'd been helping Clint out more than herself...but as their friendship has progressed, the roles have been switched and more often than not; he's helping her out.

Steve was another thing, she couldn't...physically and mentally could not push him away. Not just because of the accident or their friendship before the incident, but their entire lives were connected.  
They lived next to each other, went to the same school, their parents were best friends and they had been too.

The entire reason they'd separated was because of their grief, for the first week after the accident they'd kept to themselves, not even leaving their houses. Then he begun knocking at her door, Nat pretended she didn't hear it or made excuses, sometimes even pushing the problem onto her mother; making her cover for her.  
Steve soon started to register the message, but he kept coming, everyday.

Natasha couldn't decide if he'd been too ignorant or just wanted to pretend his fears weren't so, but they were.

And then, one day; he just stopped calling.

And that had been the end, until returning to school.

And now, it would feel completely useless to just allow him to step back to his familiar post of comfort in her life; not just stupid but wasteful.

Yes, when he'd been knocking for her, she had always wanted to go out there, but hadn't had the strength to face him and it had taken a lot of effort to just sit there, trembling with every bang against her shell.  
If she let him in, it would feel like she put herself through that pain for nothing and Natasha Romanoff didn't do aimless, or stupid, wasteful.

Plus she couldn't, even if Nat wanted to, she could not look at Steve and pluck him back in that bubble, because times had changed. Just like she knew, in his eyes she'd considerably changed, he had in hers and maybe not in the way she would have liked, but maybe in the way she secretly would have desired...

"Romanoff!" Coach cat called from the side lines, his lack of eyebrow making his forehead appear massive as it creased and wrinkled in extreme irritation. Immediately Natasha immersed herself in the processing game, unsurprisingly her team were losing, surprisingly not by that much.

Next to her, Steve appeared, catching the ball with moments to spare "Thinking about me Natasha?" his playful smirk rubbing her cheeks a mild red, which was luckily explainable due to the physical situation at hand.  
As if to emphasise her superiority, Natasha leaped, her arms scratching, clawing, straining, reaching, catching the ball mid throw and she ran as fast as she could, passing it at the last second to allow Thor to take it to victory.

Natasha then turned back to a deadpan faced Steve, her hips swaying with the cockiness of such mockery. "You sure you weren't thinking about me...Captain?" She cheekily added, playing largely off the fact that she had just intersected a pass from the Captain of the football team.

Steve stared after her distancing body, with eyes glazed with a thoughtful and longing sigh...God he missed her!

 

Knock.

With her hair parading around her eyes, threatening to close the show, Nat looked up from her crouch on the floor. Her school books soon forgotten as she trudged over to the awaiting door.  
She softly revealed a sliver of evening sunlight through the small crack in the doorframe, revealing a smug faced Barton.

With caution, Natasha opened the door enough for her mask to saturate his sight; visibly displaying her waiting decline. Clint's mouth opened largely and Nat interjected "No!"

Clint gaped "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Bet I'd still say no."

He shook his head playfully. "Oh you'll want to come to this, sweetcheeks!"

Natasha responded by moving to slam the door, but predicting that movement, Barton pushed his foot bravely through the crack. "Clint." Her teeth gritted.  
"Come on Tash! It'll be fun."

Nat crossed her arms, giving up on softly slamming the door. "Oh really, like sneaking into the library fun to steal your school books that you'd supposedly forgotten?"  
He scratched the back of his neck, his smile stretching at an awkward angle "Okay, so that was a bold-"

"stupid"

"boldly-stupid move on my part, but hey! They could have been my books."

"But they weren't-"

"Look okay, this doesn't involve theft of any kind." His eyebrows twitched, pointing out his lie, but Natasha ignored him. Admitting defeat and allowing him access into her house.  
Wordlessly, though his grin was obviously blabbing a monologue of self-congrats, he followed her inside. His eyes expanding at the mass of coloured papers, pens and textbooks featuring on the concealed carpet. "Cramming for physics." she explained dully, sitting calmly down in the small circle in the mist of revision. "So where do you wanna take me?" her eyes rolled in their sockets.

"Okay, you don't have to say it with such dread, Tash! It's gonna be fun," He stopped talking, moving his foot from the paper he was crumbling.  
Natasha looked as ignorant as ever. Clint felt as if he were treading on eggshells just to get her moving, he shifted around the textbooks.

"Come on, you hardly ever come out now."

Nat drew her brows together gracefully, despite the crude curve they formed. "Coming from the kid who can't-" she paused, biting her tongue from saying anything she'd regret, Clint saw it and guessed easily what she was going to say, though being the forgiving guy he was, he pretended he hadn't.

"For me Natasha, please." When she made no move he tried again "James wouldn't-" but just muttering the name got her body moving, her skin violated by the clouds of goose bumps covering every inch of flesh, cutting off warmth.  
"Okay, ok! I'm coming, let me just...put this stuff away."

5 minutes later her books were coherently ordered in the corner of her bedroom and Natasha was just closing the door when Clint quietly ushered from her shoulder "By the way, you may wanna change into something...more presentable." Romanoff stared down at her stained-boyfriend fit hoodie and loose shorts. Questioning Clint's reasons as he slowly chaperoned her back to her room and selected garments from her wardrobe, the first few were welcomed with cuss words and middle fingers, but he soon pulled out a pair of navy short shorts and a red blouse that she settled with whilst pulling on black converse.

"Where are we even going?" Her interrogation was silenced when she was lead out of the house and soon on her way to what Clint had described as a "supreme adventure."

 

"I'm leaving." Natasha yelled over the distant cacophony filling her ears, her and Clint were at the base of the isolated road, leading up to a massive mansion painted in a glorious gold, with the letters STARK blinding her eyes from here.

"Not so fast, sweetie!" Clint grabbed her arms and kept his hand over her shoulders as he pushed them further up the vibrating road.  
Natasha stared at him in dismay, ignoring the numerous teens looking at her in confusion as to why she wanted to leave, all of them, a herd of sheep, following the calling sheep dog, narrowing them into Tony Stark's house.

"Why did you bring me here?" She gasped through a clenched jaw, ducking from under his arm.

"Because you were invited." he exasperated.

"No I wasn't, this is you...you trying to widen your circle and gain more frien-"

Clint was getting agitated, which didn't happen often. "No Nat! This is me, trying to widen your circle, okay? I don't care what you tell me, I know you never used to be like this. Now I'm just doing what James would have wanted."

Natasha frowned and turned sharply, anger bubbling beneath her façade of expressionless. He didn't know James...nobody did except her and Steve...and he didn't know her!

In Natasha's mad rush to get away she walked straight into a small figure, almost knocking the girl off her feet. Still caught up in her fury Natasha almost didn't help her up, but Clint, pushing to apologize to Nat, did so.  
Romanoff then recognised the small girl as Jane Foster, who smiled politely at the teens. Her small talk dodging Tasha's ears, until she stated "Are you two not coming to the party?" Her curiosity aimed more at Nat than Clint, trying to engage with the stubbornly quiet girl.  
Natasha's voice was as hard as ice "Well actually-"

Jane melted the harshness instantly "Oh come on, I bet they'll be pleased to see you." Gently Jane lead Nat, with a following Clint, back towards the house.  
"Who?" Romanoff questioned, not shrugging off Barton's arm, this time.

"Oh everyone, Pepper, Thor, Maria, Bruce, Tony...Steve..."

Natasha caught herself from repeating Rogers name, not out of wonder but...almost as if she'd heard wrong, which Nat knew she hadn't.

This was why she was here, not Clint trying to force her into discomfort...because Steve wanted her here...

 

Ducking, under the rogue lights - distorting the truth of colours - the teens filed into the bustling mansion. Greeted by the silent buzz of intoxicated teenagers and hard cackles, so heavy and manipulative that they didn't even sound joyous.  
Jane stayed with them, only revealing a slight layer of discomfort.

Natasha wouldn't be lying to express her surprise at seeing the stunning student, Jane's relationship with Thor had only begun at the beginning of the summer, though Thor had been pining after Foster for more than a few years.  
After all, Jane wasn't just: kind, considerate, thoughtful, smart, knowledgeable, beautiful inside and out, trustworthy but also...naturally good.

Nat bit back at the bitter bark, kept at bay only by the careful dent in the corner of Foster's curved lips, a flag in the artic to express her selfless nature and caring features.  
Envy coloured Tasha's eyes a darker green, you could say; Jane was almost everything Nat wasn't.

"Jane!" The shout was loud without the flood of music backing it up, adding that on top; almost deafening.  
The trio turned to a towering Thor, who glided easily through the stampede of dancing animals.

The gentle giant grinned warmly at Clint - who smirked whilst lifting a hand lazily - and Nat, who attempted an undamaged smile - that didn't make way for the ray of melancholy - but Thor's obvious attention and efforts were for the petite girl embracing him welcomingly. Forlornly - and questioning why - Natasha sunk shamelessly into Barton's side.

Once the couple had finished blinding Natasha's vision with a warm, fuzzy blur, they escorted Barton and Romanoff to the bar, which they found fairly effortlessly despite the lack of movement the cramp space allowed.  
At the bar they weren't surprised to see Tony Stark, his head hanging heavily on his shoulders. He welcomed them friendly, though Nat was almost certain he had forgotten who she was, a suggestion for why he wasn't - like he always did whenever she was in view - hitting on her, or the fact that his arm was carelessly clinging to Pepper's hip was another suggestion for his lack of pig headedness.

For the longest second possible, Natasha stared silently into the jibbing bodies on the dance floor. A voice next to her - Pietro Maximoff - asked sheepishly "Wanna dance?"  
Restraining her eyes to focus on the same point she muttered "No, thank you."

Finally she turned and seeing the strands of disappointment tinting his eyes she smiled for what felt like the first time that evening, Nat liked Pietro however she didn't know him and she had no intentions of changing that variable.  
Subtly she then proceeded through the crowd, thankful for the grains of people, allowing her to sink away without having his eyes sticking to her neck.

Instantly, Nat found herself seeking solitude in air. Clean, open, unhampered oxygen that would clear her lungs and allow her to think without the guilt of an aching head as she tried to enhance her senses just to notice the intoxicated surroundings; it was almost as if she were in somebody else's head, seeing how they felt when drunk.  
And that feeling was anything but pleasing.

Somehow Tash managed to find a balcony - this one not filled with horny kissers and sickening gropers.

Her lungs gasped and gulped at the sudden cold sparking against her skin; like fingers. The silence, though subtle, was enough for her head to stop banging. Natasha was in the process of enjoying the isolation when she felt the presence of another, as if reading her mind, he stepped forward. Out of the shadows and into the limited light Steve came, in his hand a bottle of beer, though it appeared neglected and sorrow.

He leaned against the railing, his hair boyishly scruffy and yet endearingly messy. His blue eyes complimented by the navy of his shirt, highlighting the azure ocean in his orbs. His shoulders were wrapped in a leather jacket, one Nat had grown custom to seeing, wherever Steve went; the jacket followed.

For the briefest of minutes, Natasha drowned in the silence, awkwardly joining his position leaning against the railing. Somehow, just being next to Steve, triggered a sigh from her plump lips.

It was funny, she thought back to the other night - James' birthday dinner - how close they'd gotten, how easy it had been for her to just allow herself the privilege of not necessarily forgetting but ignoring.  
During the following days Natasha hadn't interacted with him, not really anyway; besides sitting together on the bus and making polite (if forced, on her part) conversation and it was like these precious memories and secrets of mourning had been stolen; as if somebody had taken a massive eraser and rubbed out the interaction.

But now, these moments were being rewritten; it became clear that they'd always been there and maybe they always would be...but when she was away from Steve they were just easier to: block out, conceal, mask, ignore...

Allowing herself the pleasure of comfortable silence Nat closed her eyes, feeling his eyes on her own. His own sigh of release reminded her body of how close he was to her, suddenly Natasha found a desire buried deep within her brain, she turned before loosing confidence.

"How do you do it?" He paused in whatever he'd been keenly thinking, the tiniest bit of hurt flashing in his eyes upon pausing his previous reverie.

What had he been thinking about?

"Do what?"

"Act as if nothing has happened?" Romanoff stunned herself in the harmful prodding her mind was abruptly concocting. Where was this coming from? This desire to ruin a perfectly quiet breather shared between her and Rogers, what's her goal, here? 

If she expected him to be offended she was surprised. Steve was calm as he kept pace with her racing rush. "I guess I just know that it's what James would want."

Nat frowned, - she disagreed with what Rogers was suggesting - looking at him in the eye for the first time that evening. "How do you know what he would of wanted?"

This time he looked out over the still approaching partygoers, his manner straining and stiffening.

Clearly, the discomfort he was failing to hide, was eating him up inside. "Because if it were the other way around it's what I'd want."  
Sharply, Natasha averted her gaze, not wishing for the dagger she knew all too well was piercing her ordinarily, polite orbs.

So, Steve is basing his beliefs of James' wishes on his own? If Steve had died - which he'd very closely come to conduct - he'd want Nat and James to forget him? Steve's Natty and Bucky...

If possible, Natasha paled at the thought, feeling a deeper sword plunge into her gut. Then a stalking, silhouette of gloomy darkness stepped from the secluded corners, Natasha's guilt shadow, swallowing her whole at the idea of possibly grieving more if Steve had died instead of James.  
How could she think that?  
They were both her best friends! Both permanent parts of her life...at least she'd always thought they would be.  
They were like brothers to her...er...Bucky more than Steve...just because of his nature and Steve was so...

Nat was cut off abruptly.

"You disagree?" Steve still wasn't looking at her, his gaze a straight line into heaven.

Shock filled her stomach like an injection of fluid, Nat was surprised with Steve; no matter how much distance had come between them and how much both had changed, Rogers could still predict her first move.

"I didn't say that." Pathetically, she crumbled under the certainty of his tone.

"You didn't have to."

Nat's hands strained white against the railing she clung to, her head turning to face him, licking her drying lips. "I just don't...I don't think he'd want us to forget..."

"I never said forget." He still denied her the advantage of eye contact, a smirk curling the syllables of the words he so easily highlighted.  
"You hide the pain you feel, cover up your anguish at his death. His lack of presence, as if" she gulped for the element of confidence usually heavy in the air she drank from "as if you don't feel the pain."

Immediately his bottom lip curled under the presence of his shock, Steve's teeth bit into the plump lip as he slowly - too slowly for Natasha to breath without precaution - faced her.  
Not anger flashing in his tinted hues, but hurt.

"If you're implying that I don't feel anything for Bucky...then you're foolishly mistaken."

"Then why-"

Steve interrupted curtly: "Because maybe I'm better at dealing with grief, maybe I'm just hiding it better."

Natasha shook her head as a bewitched chuckle vibrated against her chest, her hands dropped to her sides, folding across her chest as the wind picked up. "But then look at me, look how I've been affected." Natasha's finger gestured at their immediate surroundings and more; hinting at her shut down of emotions and contact with anybody for the last few months.

Steve's fire didn't die down, just became more controlled; the way Nat saw it; his spark was being manipulated. "Perhaps you have more guilt than I do." The whisper scraping away at a fraction of what Steve was considering. As if Natasha had more to do with this than thought, as if Nat's true diversity between her old-self and this witch came down to more than just grief; though you could never tell with mourning.

Natasha briefly remembered her mother talking in her soothing calmness "Grief does many things to the human mind Tasha, most of which are too painful to recite, some unimaginable. But grief is a strange thing, it will never affect another person the same." Figurative fingertips fumbled around her own, "Never let anybody make you feel bad for how you mourn death, Natasha." 

Natasha was brought back from the painful reverie by the hard, unwavering glare of Steve.  
Finding her composure, Nat hardened to marble. "You're wrong." She breathed in relief, stepping into his space and uttering her summarise of Steve's thoughts on: what James would want and why Natasha was crumbling under this unbearable weight.

Suddenly, she turned. Sharp and precise.

She was proud, prouder of the way she had brought it back. How, though she hadn't been able to justify herself well, she'd managed to gather enough of her falling façade to leave with her head held considerably high.

Natasha didn't expect to be pulled back, turned around until she was facing him. Seeing his sparking blue eyes and wanting to lose herself in them, their breaths dipped and danced in the close proximity. Steve's hand firm on her forearm, to hold her in place and keep her close.

Although she didn't expect this turn of events, Nat wasn't fighting it, though she definitely wasn't leading it either. His chin neared closer to hers, subconsciously - or not so subconsciously - Nat followed suit, stepping onto the tips of her toes and then their lips were centimetres apart.  
So close she could practically feel the tingle of their touch, she urged herself for that little gap to close, their eyes locked. Both seeking assurance that yes, this was what they wanted.

Upon seeing no further hesitance, their plump, anticipating lips met and fireworks erupted on their skin. Both suddenly craving for more...  
Then:

A searching call cut through the air "Nat!" Clint stood frozen in place by the door, his eyes landing and locking on the lip locked pair.


	5. Indecisive

I am LOVING all the feedback, despite the amount of time it is taking me to publish these chapters! Please be patient and just continue with whatever you guys are doing, which is putting a humungous smile across my face!

If Clint's shout hadn't drawn their attention, his closely following cough - supported by his bow of the head - would have notified the previously kissing teenagers of his presence.

Taking all of two seconds; 1, Nat's lips pulled back from the uplifting warmth, 2, her eyes travelled to see Barton's face of ignominy, Natasha stepped away from Steve, her hands moving from their clasp of his leather jacket to the cold railing behind her.

Her cheeks flustered as the silence tightened around them; a restraint.

Then Clint gained more confidence in the level of his awkwardness, "I'm just gonna" pointing back inside to the raving party "Yeah..." he turned and walked away. But Natasha didn't use her only friends' absence as a leverage to look at Steve, her head stayed parallel to the ground of the balcony.  
Steve switched from foot to foot, uncertain on what route to go down. "Um, Nata-"

"What the hell was that?" Her tone a glimpse of a whisper.

His eyebrows knitted "Excuse me?"

"What-Was-That?"

He paled but stayed still, stunned in silence "A kiss." He sounded uncertain, as if he were asking a question.

Sarcastic lines traced her lips as frown lines creased her ironed exterior and then, the itch was scratched and a serious fog set in across the land "Why?" He coughed, covering his mouth with his fisted palm and stepped closer, if Natasha could have stepped backwards she would have - purely on reflex - however she was pressed against the edge as it was.

"Because, you were in pain."

"I've always been in pain, ever since the accident. Haven't you?"

"Yes," cold wind exploded from his lips "Stop making assumptions, Nat."

Silence.

"So...I was in pain and?" Her eyes rolled upwards towards the sky, something she'd witnessed many girls do whilst attempting to hold tears back. But not Natasha, Natasha didn't have tears to cry she told herself, repeatedly.

"And I wanted to make it stop, I wanted you to stop thinking and fighting this."

Logically, you'd probably choose to focus on what Steve was referring to by the lexis 'this', however, Natasha zoomed in on the first part of the sentence he'd so easily ushered. "So, you just kissed me to distract me." She didn't know where the irritation for this reasoning came from, except that it was one hell of a loaded stream, that would no doubt evolve into a river and then lake.

Baffling blindly, Steve stammered, struggling for the right words; the words he hoped she wouldn't turn against him and twist, but there was nothing he could say that she wouldn't be able to get a gripe of.

She removed her hands from the icy railing and stepped towards the door, her face still facing him; though for all the emotion it was hinting it, it might as well have been the back of her head.  
"Well I'm glad you enjoyed your distraction."

Before Steve knew what had happened she was gone, a glimmering ray of moonlight illuminated the flush of red, hot, heavy, anger on his cheeks as his fists swung wildly around his stamping body.

 

Beating, hearts drove her footsteps.

She felt dizzy as she swayed easily through the crowd, the room spinning. She needed a drink. She needed to find Clint. Suddenly a body bumped into hers, knocking her off her feet, a drunken chuckle invaded her hearing "Sorry" followed by amused laughter.  
Natasha stayed on the floor, her fingers fumbling thoroughly through carpet, looking for anything to cling onto as she tipped backwards over the edge of the cliff.

What was happening?

"Natasha!" A shaky but sure voice hit her head first and she was quickly pulled upwards by Barton's presence. Natasha straightened, feeling a safety embrace her mind. "You okay?" He pondered.

"Yes," she lied, noting Clint's embarrassing lack of eye contact. "Look, Barton...about what you saw out there; is was-"

He raised his hand as the weight transferred from his shoulders to hers, "Hey, Red it's fine. As long as it's what you actually want."

Her eyebrows knitted together and felt a tang of annoyance scolding her skin "What do you mean? There's nothing going on between me and Rogers!"

"Hmm" he didn't even attempt to hide his believability - or lack of it - in that sentence.

Nat hit his arm, hard enough for him to flinch. "Drop it Barton."

He soon dragged her back to the bar and in Natasha's attempt to hide her anger - at both herself and Steve - and embarrassment at said anger, she had no problem resolving to the soothing tingles of alcohol.

 

A groan cascaded against the echoes surrounding the secluded bed.

Nat lifted her head, her eyelids glued closed, and a frying-pan hit her mind, she flinched at the scratching sound of last night, threatening to break into her eyes. It took fair too long for Natasha to take note of her surroundings; this was not her bed, nor her bedroom.  
She gulped as disjointed specs of memories hit her, each one a new punch, packing with it a stinging bruise.

What happened last night?

Then the odd knickknacks and details of the room brought with that distinguishable smell, cleared away the fog.

Her voice concentrated on not crumbling under the drying temperatures of her cracking throat as she yelled, hollowly "Steve?" Several moments later, knowing feet jumped up the stairs - two at a time? - and then his handsome face appeared at the door, concern turning the corners of his mouth downwards.

"What's wrong?" He smelt of fresh cooked eggs and bacon.

Natasha concentrated on not betraying the true level of panic and humiliation building up behind her shining orbs, she cleared her throat "What..er..happened last night?"

His careful stance relaxed and he stepped into the room; his room, making his presence stronger as he did so. Every movement into his space brightened the lighting, made the odd details she'd neglected to notice earlier, scream for attention.  
She felt oddly at peace, lying comfortably in Steve's bed.

Steve's bed! An overwhelming fear flooded her chest and examining her body in a mad rush, Natasha cheeked that all her clothes were in fact intact. A second later, Natasha looked up at the soft laughter hitting her hard, to see that Steve wasn't offended by her reaction, instead he found a strong feather of amusement in her rapid rampage.

Rising like the already high sun, Nat's eyebrows prodded him to explain. Steve calmly moved to seat on the bed, next to Natasha's legs. The precise movement left Nat pondering, how long had he been calculating before proceeding?  
She stopped analysing when he began talking "Do...er...do you remember our conversation?"  
Usually, she would have questioned which conversation, however the tone he used put a red target on the interaction he was so desperate to uncover.

Yes, she nodded firmly once, Yes she did.

Relief flooded his cheeks in the form of colour, well that was one less awkward thing to retell. "Well after you stormed off, I believe you found Barton" stiffness in his voice, penetratingly cold "and you two proceeded to down the majority of the bar."

Honestly, she wasn't surprised. - one thing she'd avoided during her mourning process to this transition was alcohol, not because she wouldn't have been able to get any (curtsy of her father) but because of the strong effects it had bestowed upon her father, who had been too wrapped up in his own tangle of guilt to support Natasha's lose of a friend. - and with Clint edging her one, no doubt, she had no hope to have skipped a night with soberness.

A pause diverges their conversation and Natasha finally feels the feeling associated with a hangover, the covers get thrown off her legs and dodging Steve, she pounces to the bathroom bare foot and doesn't even have time to close the bathroom door before vomit bursts like a firework out of her throat and into the toilet. The one perk is that, Nat has good aim.  
Soft hands fiddle with her hair, pulling the long tangles back from her face and after a little hesitation a gentle hand rubs smooth circles on her back; which honestly, combined with the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of her blouse, makes her feel even sicker, but she'd rather have her tousle with it now and have it out of the way.

In Natasha's mind, hours pass, but really only minutes before she's swirling her mouth out with a class of freezing water. When all the water's gone along with the feeling of warm suffocating sickness, Nat turns to look at Steve. Whose eyes stream with a river of pity and sorrow, for a fraction of time Nat fears she'll be sick again but recovers.

"Sorry" she mumbles, eyes on the ground, staring at his bare feet only a short distance from hers. Steve smiles surprisingly, and turns a small tassel of red behind her ear, "It's okay. Remember that time, Bucky, you and I went to Coney Island and-"

Nat raises her hand as a chorus of chuckles warns him to finish "Vividly, so let's stay clear of that." As the laughter dies, so does the warmth and Natasha paddles back to his bed, wordlessly.

Once they've both settled back into their original positions, Steve slightly nearer than before, Nat exposes the topic again "So what happened next?"

Steve's eyes travel to the right of his bedroom, seeing the odd flicker of sunlight dance through the still closed blinds and enhance the blondness of Steve's boyish scruff of hair, Natasha fights the urge to card her finger's through it.

A smile appeared on his face, making his cheek bones harden and become more defined, stop!  
"The party lasted until early in the morning, and by then Stark had kicked out the majority of people. I was just leaving when I spotted you, asleep on the couch with drool on your cheek."

Self-consciously, Nat wiped at her flustered cheeks tediously even though the drool was long gone. She would have felt even more embarrassed, however the endearing shadow in his eyes and the chuckles he whistled at her swift movement caught her like a net.  
"I was tempted to find Barton and get him to take you home, but I couldn't find him and he was probably in as worse a state as yourself," he paused, searching for any concern she had for Clint; but none was shown "so I picked you up and walked home. By the time I got here it was 4:30, so I brought you in as quietly as possible and slept on the couch."

Natasha felt like crying, after everything she'd done to him, he still cared for her, even gave her his bed!  
With a shaky breath Natasha nodded with gratitude, "What time is it?" He didn't need to check, he just knew "9:00am"

Natasha felt a blind panic invading her system, today was Sunday and that meant Church, she'd missed the entire service and her mother was probably about to arrive home any minute!  
Recognising the fear in her eyes, Steve stumbled forwards to assure her "Ma knows your here, she's gone to church and will make sure your mum's fine." A new kind of dread attacked her gut, she placed her head in her hands; Sarah had woken up to find her sweet little Natty, drunkenly sleeping in her son's bed...what would she think of her?

"I should probably get going, waking up and not finding me is one thing, but getting back after a 2 hour service and still being gone is another." Slowly she crawled out of bed and had already reached the landing when Steve caught up "Uh, Nat, you...er...stink."

Admittedly, Natasha was still not completely 'there' yet, "Um, thanks Rogers. I'll keep that in mind."

"No, no! What I mean is, you smell like a liquor store and um...of sick."

She rubbed her head and sighed, understanding him now "Well there's not much I can do about that at the moment."

Blood rushed to Steve's cheeks, "Well you could have a shower here if you wanted." Nat gulped, her eyes paralyzed in his.

After taking too many seconds to decide, Nat nodded "Okay" I mean, she'd had showers here before...when she was 12, but still. "Um..thanks." Handing her towels and other possible products required, Steve dashed downstairs to give Natasha another block of security that he wasn't going to walk in on her or anything.

Her shower was cleansing, Natasha relished in the burning water, scolding away at the surface of sins.  
Though she was careful not to be too long, not wanting to waste the Rogers' water, quickly she finished and dried herself off and then went to change into her clothes, but after lifting them up and experiencing the stench of a Saturday night out, ebbing off the revealing and doubtfully warm clothes Nat wrapped herself in a towel.  
Making sure it was secure twice, before exiting the steamy bathroom.

When she walked onto the landing she met the indecisive foot-stopper; whose bedroom should she enter? And what would she find to change?

Upon hearing Nat's exit, Steve dabbled up the stairs, poking his head up to see her in her towel and immediately he froze. Tasha would be lying to say she didn't smirk at her feet once Steve's ears turned a tender pink.  
A minute of stuttering escaped his mouth before he coughed, pulling himself together and pointing to his mother's room "I'll, just go and find you something to change into."

Awkwardly, Nat waited, patting her foot to an imaginary rhythm whilst Steve dashed through draws and wardrobes for clothes. Sheepishly he returned, holding a pair of dark leggings and varies other bits, Nat noted - attempting to keep a straight face - there was no t-shirt in sight.  
He glanced at her eyes, only her eyes, his gaze as hard as metal, "You...er" warmth ran to his cheeks, making them darker "Do you need underwear?" He mouthed the last word and Nat held back a chuckle.  
His gaze began to waver just a bit; well everybody knows what happens to metal when it gets hot.

"No, thank you." She practically snatched the clothes away from his outstretched hand, holding them to her chest. "But...could I please have a t-shirt?"

He pursed his lips before hearing her sentence, a second too late, "Right, sorry. Mum didn't really have anything, do you mind wearing something of mine?"

Without skipping a beat she battered "No, that's fine thanks." Before disappearing into his room and softly slamming the door shut. As soon as there was a wall between them she relaxed, falling against the door with all her weight and closing her eyes, praying that she wouldn't have to peel them back open just yet.

God this was awkward.

 

Romanoff's laughter was cut off, by a knock to the door.  
She excused herself before rushing to answer it, once she pulled it open and spied a scowl as hard as stone, she burst into a howl of laughter. Grudgingly, Clint stomped into her living room, violently kicking his shoes off. He looked like he'd been dragged through a bush, his hair pointing in every direction, bent at all angles. His roughly smart shirt was buttoned wrong and his trousers were covered from the foot up to the knee in mud.  
Nat was leaning against the wall for support as tears trickled down her cheeks "You look like shit!"

He moved towards her, wiping away the insult as if it were a polite greeting "Thanks, I smelt Doritos!" He exasperated. Nat's mouth turned downwards and she followed her arms, aware of the presence in her living room. "Is that why you came here? Because you smelt Doritos from whatever hole you crawled out of this morning?"  
His eyebrows arched expertly as an incredulous smirk painted across his boyish features as he ignored her question, by asking his own. "Tash, is that Doritos I smell?" Clint drew closer, his nose twitching at the growing stench.

Nat sank back into herself, her shoulders retreating downwards "Maybe..."

"Well either it is, or it isn't. So Tash, is that Doritos I'm smellin?"

Nat's brows cocked bemusedly "It's your nose Barton!"

As Natasha made as if to block his way into her lounge, Clint - clearly tired - swept his arms around her waist and lifted her up, opening the door. Natasha was putting up a fair fight, though, kicking and squealing in his ears and pounding her fists against his back.  
During the entire action Barton was laughing and it was only as he put her down that he spotted Steve, lying lazily on the couch, with a blanket he'd obviously been sharing scrunched over his legs and a bowl of Doritos in his lap.

Clint exaggerated his sudden settlement as he gasped a massive "Ohhhhhh!" Before shuffling and sitting down in the arm chair, facing the TV screen his friends - Did he count Steve as a friend? - had been observing.  
Natasha wordlessly, followed suit and resumed the film as she settled into Steve's side, leaning into his warmth slightly.

Once the movie ended, Nat turned to see a sleeping Clint, with drool running down his chin.

Natasha chided "Every time he comes to my house, he's always covered in mud." Steve shrugged and whispered into her ear, pointing at Barton "That's what you looked like this morning when I took you home."  
Nat grimaced before slapping his arm and earning a fit of laughter from Rogers.

Several hours later, Clint was still asleep and Natasha and Steve had just finished eating lunch when he stretched tiredly, his muscles as toned as stone through the translucent, white t-shirt he wore.  
He stood up, shaking his legs awake and smiling down at Natasha "I should probably be getting home."

Nat didn't ask why, sometimes people just wanted to leave and they shouldn't feel bad for it, she stood following his previous actions but in a much smaller range. She lead him to the door after he'd pet Clint's slouched head goodbye, careful to shut the door from the hallway to the lounge, for privacy.  
She waited with her arms folded as he pulled on his shoes and then stood to full height, making Nat's trajectory of eyesight rise from eyelevel to extreme towering.

They stood in silence for a breath and then Nat placed her hand on the handle of the door, but not opening it yet. "Well, thanks, I guess."

If anything his smile was laced with a dap of disappointment as he walked out, just before he shuffled to his neighbouring house she called back "Steve..." uncertain whether he'd turn back or not, when he did she charged into her proper apology "Thank you, not just for last night, but all the other things I've done since..." she steeled her nerves "since James' death."

His eyebrows danced in shock of the courage she'd seconds ago wielded to say such a thing; it wasn't hurtful or cruel, untrustworthy or exaggerative. Just honest.

Quickly he walked back towards her, the jittering butterflies in her stomach stopped her from moving - to either further his movement or prevent it - as he bowed down a placed a chaste kiss against her temple.  
As much as possible, Natasha leaned into the gesture and it was only as his lips - torturing her as he did - left her forehead that she found the blood in her veins. She grabbed his shoulders and gave him a hug; not as long as the one they'd shared at Bucky's birthday dinner but so much more satisfying.

He then stepped back and walked to his door, Natasha tried not to follow his movement with her eyes, but failed in a blissful triumph. Just when she thought he wouldn't say anything and went to close her door he called, so silent it had to carry on the brief breeze for her ears to register, the sound only hitting her after the door had closed and the wind had followed her inside as she fall back against the door:

"See you later, Natty."


	6. Smooth sailing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw I'm not American...therefore I have NO IDEA how American Football works, so a lot of this info is from the internet, so if it's incorrect...I apologize!  
> Plus I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry for how late this is! Just, school is so chaotic at the moment! Okay, I also apologise because I really wanted to continue this further, but I was also desperate to publish, so this chapter is not where I want it to end, but more updates soon! Xx

From that day, something snapped.

Natasha was no longer purposefully distancing herself from Steve, she found herself no longer dreading the morning bus ride and her pace slowing considerably to a calm stroll when they retreated to their houses together.  
She did not, however, change her in-school habits.

Barton and Romanoff still managed to survive just the two of them, sometimes Nat ditching him for a book when he became too intolerable, but to an outsider, nothing drastic changed.

Sometimes, late at night, when sleep was acting up and her covers were suffocating; she'd still and focus on Steve's little reminder; his hint that she'd be coming home soon.  
Home.  
The word sounded foreign, she hadn't used it in a long time.

"See you soon Natty" 

Softly her eyes fluttered closed; letting the sound burn in her memory.

Remembering, her explanation to Barton about the situation - if there was one - between herself and Steve, Natasha recounted the awkward twine of a bad example:

"Wait...so are you guys dating now or what?" 

Nat rolled her eyes, no longer flinching by the inclination. 

"No" snapping softer than intended "We're just...nothing's changed."

Nat fumbled with her locker combination whilst carrying several other books, impatiently Barton knocked her to the side with his hip, stepping forwards and opening her locker and grabbing her English books whilst trading away Biology.  
Tasha flashed a thankful hue in her eye as they descended back to their wistful walk of the halls. 

"So that evening was pointless then?"

The bell chimed clearly through the clouds of cackles; suddenly there were people flowing around them, about as concerned as rivers were about stones.  
The friends made an effort to not get separated alone route, both raising their voices by a frequency. 

"No...it was, I feel a change and so does he. But it won't be noticeable."

Amusement twirled in her stomach at Barton's confused face: pouted lips, scowling eyes, sharp, puffed out cheeks and a scrunched up nose. "Can you think of an example?"

The bullet left the gun before the impulse to pull the trigger hit her, "Like loosing your virginity!" 

Clint choked on air, scoffing at the firm fist of her chosen suggestion. A snort escaped his sealed lips "Interesting choice, Red, I must say." Snaking through the jungle of limbs, Nat's elbow connected with his groin "You know what I mean; you feel different, but you don't look different and you don't act different."

His shoulders rose by a hair, eyebrows calculating "Well..."

Natasha bit into her lip, gritting her teeth as she growled "Necessarily!"

So, in other words, Steve and Natasha were no where near back to their old selves - and probably never would be - but it was one step closer. And besides in corridors and classrooms, school buses and neighbourhood streets, she hadn't seen him since that party - 2 weeks ago - until...

 

The heart beats pounded against the ground, pumping the wind this way and that. Natasha dashed forwards, her hands doing little to shelter herself from the storm stirring above her, thunder crackled under the pressure of stampeding clouds:  
The iron sky threatens...

Her hand slipped against her door handle, "Urg!" she groaned when it wouldn't budge.

This way and that, she clung against the door. One step, that's all she needed, one breath, one inhale, one shuffle backwards and she'd be sheltered. She pleaded with herself, willing her past self to have placed the key back under the blue mushroom.  
Her fingers digging in dirt, seeking the prized position.

Nothing.

Just to see what happened; because really she had nothing to lose, she bashed her body brutally against the door. Not even a dent. - like she expected one!

Hurriedly she scanned her surroundings, due to the horrendous hurricane of rain Nat couldn't see beyond the drive way. A snarky voice fluttered through her head: Is this what Noah felt like? 

She charged forwards a few steps, blindly searching for her ark to come rooming down the street. As if a floating key would appear, as if by magic, into thin air and be able to provide her shelter.  
When nothing happened, Nat chided herself for even hoping.  
Hitting her like a baseball bat, Natasha sprinted to the right, her abusive feet blocked out due to the uproar of angry clouds; an emigration of rain crashing down on her, invading and stealing her warmth.

She prayed he was in, her fist only had to bang against the door twice before it opened, squinting into the warmth; light, smell of fresh cookies and sunshine days, Nat was pulled in by bash hands.  
Only after the door had slammed she saw Steve's friendly face, some distance back due to the October rain radiating off her drenched skin.

In a dry voice Natasha muttered miserably "We have to stop meeting like this."

Half an hour later, Nat was redressed in guarding sweat pants and a drowning hoodie, Steve's clothes only suited to her for one purpose; warmth. Her hair was curling after its straightening struggle in the rain. As she pulled socks - also too large for her - on she scolded herself, borrowing the Rogers' hot water and clothing was becoming some unspoken habit.  
Steve would be missing the rest of his closest by the end of the month.

Once fully dressed - or as close as she could be in clothes that swallowed her entire form - Natasha padded downstairs, her hands reaching for the hot chocolate before even jumping off the last step. Steve slowly settled next to her on the couch, the gentle patter of violent bullets against the window somehow soothing.  
Natasha held the mug close, her nose tingling with the intoxicating smell of melted chocolate, her legs pulled under her and a blanket draped over her shoulders, aimlessly.

"Thanks again."

Apparently, lost in thought, Steve started, looking down at her pointedly. Come on! She wasn't that small! "Oh no problem."

The pattering now became a comfort, knowing any silences between them would be filled.

"You coming to the game on Friday?"

Nat smirked "Not if it's like this." pointing to the window.

Steve smiled "How'd you get locked out anyway?" sinking into the slow drudge of conversation, Steve sat back, his feet brushing hers; a new kind of cold. Immediately, she flinched back, her hand then resting on his arm - his bicep (why did that matter?) her hand heavy as she forced her touch away - and noting his chilly temperature. "Steve you're freezing." When she attempted to push the blanket to him and he refused, she brushed it between the both of them, causing her to twitch forwards, closer.

His raised eyebrows prodded her forwards "I spent the night at Barton's -"

Steve spat out his chocolate, the majority falling into his mug whilst a sprinkle trickled from his nose. Natasha shrugged into laughter, twisting her hand up the lengthy sleeve of his hoodie to wipe it away. Folding his lips inwards, Steve removed the beverage out of reach, his ears reddening.

"Not like that." Natasha assured clumsily. "But I appear to have not packed well, forgetting my phone" she listed the items off her fingers "keys and coat."

Steve stiffly smiled, his hand resting across his chest "Well, you're lucky I was here to rescue you."

Her eyebrows wiggled "Oh really?"

"Oh yeah, a couple minutes later and I would have been long gone into the rain for a run." cheek ebbing off his humour.

Natasha fell backwards into the couch, her hand resting over her heart "My hero!" wiping away a false tear. Steve smiled, leaning back into the sofa, Nat added as a last thought "My chocolate-snout sprouting hero!"

 

Today was Friday.

The entire school was buzzing with a jittery anticipation for the game later that evening. Clint was in a constant state of shock, amazed he'd made try-outs, let alone would be playing as the fullback for the school in an actual game.  
Which left Natasha dry with a strong drought of humour.

She was pleased to find - and then surprised with her pleasure - that Steve was in the majority of her lessons. Unsurprisingly, he was fine, Nat knew that Steve never got nervous for football, or at least he held it back until the game actually began. So for that day, he was the source of her entertainment whilst Clint sat next to her; a gapping fish who couldn't tell you his own name, had you asked.

A sharp shuffle behind her chair had Natasha turning, fire burning brightly in her eyes. She was in Physics, sat next to Pepper Potts - who was probably one of the closest girl-friends she had ever had - and Sam Wilson, who had spent the entire lesson so far, chewing his pen and chatting jibberish to an ignorant Barton.

Once her eyes fell onto Steve, Tony and Thor's guilt ridden smirks, she raised her eyebrows playfully; before turning back around and hoping the silence - if guilty - would stay.  
As soon as her back was turned, numerous other noises erupted, an explosion of ripping paper, groaning chair legs and enough muffled mutterings that Nat had no hope of listening to their physics teacher, usually she wouldn't have been bothered, however Natasha liked physics and Barton's unusual silence was putting her on edge.

Their teacher, either chose to be oblivious or the bright blue hearing aid pepping from her ear was turned off.

God, Natasha wished she had a hearing aid to turn off...

Then there was a loud clash of papers and the three thugs froze as the classes' heads snapped in their direction, as swift and precise as an army of robots; ready to kill. Natasha then took it upon herself to kill the distraction, she swivelled and saw, below her feet and decorating her chair was a beach of worksheets, homework assignments and an abused looking book, that she took pity on and peaked closer to see the scribble of Steve Rogers scrawled across the front cover.

Without moving her head, her eyes rose to see Steve, paralyzed in his bow down to her feet to collect his scattered work. However, due to the close placement of the allied desks, his clumsy, buff arms couldn't fit into the tiny breathing space between her chair and the front of his table.  
Discovering this conclusion, Steve sat back and turned on the switch to charming.

"Natasha, darling..." elegance injecting his tone.

"Yes Steven?" Her lips were tipped in a faint smirk, one that she wasn't even bothering to hide and Steve quickly realized that she was making fun of him.

"Would you, be a doll and hand me my physics notes?"

Natasha used a dose of hyperbole to vividly showcase the twists and turns of her mouth, as she debated. Slowly, she turned back around, her posture straight as Stark whistled loudly and Thor performed his marvellous chuckle.  
Rogers then proceeded by crawling under his desk and whilst he subtly grabbed his various papers she wasn't so subtle to inch her chair closer so the leg jabbed his palm and immediately he whined in pain.

5 seconds later, once he'd retrieved from the floor, Steve leaned over her and lightly shoved her head forward, had it been one of his teammates teasing him, Nat knew her head would have hit the desk, due to the force he would have put behind the blow.  
However, she didn't feel as if he were implying she was gentler than the boys - had it been another girl teasing him, he wouldn't have tipped her forwards at all - Natasha groaned at the jerk, eventually joining in with the playful laughter Steve set to show, he was in fact fooling around, but not before she'd flashed her middle finger whilst gesturing that she'd be watching him.

Following, closely was the "Ohhh" gasp escaping Rogers' and her table and just as the oblivious teacher was going to intervene the bell interrupted. Natasha easily collected her things and followed the rest of the class out, sinking easily from her individual stream into the ocean of stumbling students.  
During her journey to English - another lesson with Steve - Nat was pulled by Rogers into a football chant as the boys, leading the wave, walked past the football banner, her shoulders tiny against the jumping gang of stampeding children.  
Somehow, Natasha found herself laughing, with Clint dog growling in her ear and Steve wrapping his arm easily around her shoulders, to drag her into the group but also protect her from being knocked about.

Then an appearance from several English teachers extinguished the flame of excitement, clearly somebody had ruffled their feathers. Subtly, Natasha snuck out from the rowdy boys and slipped into her class, discovering just as she did so, that there was no escaping Steve.  
Sneakily he stalked, quickly occupying the seat next to her and his expression neglecting the fact that they'd just interacted mere seconds ago.

"Oh hey, Romanoff! How you doing?"

Nat's response was non-existent, however a brief - if uncatchable - eye-roll twisted her vision as she fought back a smirk. The teacher then proceeded to explain the lesson plan.  
The lesson, though usually one of Nat's old favourites, was endlessly boring. It felt like she was being tortured to even glance at their current novel 'Animal Farm', Natasha was praying for the subject to finish so she could race to lunch and just when she began to lose the hope to live, Steve's pen exploded.

Well, it wasn't quite that dramatic. Nat knew, better than most (after countless warnings for Steve to not chew her pen, that she'd often lent to him) that biting the tip of his pen was a long lived habit, unbreakable it seemed. And this day, this second right then, was when the poor, bruised case of a pen gave in and blue blood squirted from the pen, colouring Rogers' lips a dark navy.  
The entire class erupted in laughter whilst Romanoff sat back, her hands followed neatly on her desk and her eyebrows framed to perfection as they hung high on her forehead.

Joining in on the inevitable laughter, Steve made the mistake of licking his lips and then flinching from the taste, causing Nat to release an amused chuckle, causing Steve to turn to her. Though his lips pouted in false bemusement, his eyes sparkled with the pleasure of having fun with Nat and in public.

"What are you laughing at Natty?" When the sugar coated tone surged through his teeth, Nat froze, suddenly cautious as the bell rang and the students sprinted to lunch. Quickly, Nat grabbed her books and headed for the door, attempting to put as much distance between herself and Rogers as possible before he sabotaged her.

Too late.

Plump lips landed lightly on her cheek and if it weren't for the extra layer of moistness damping her cheekbone, Nat would have almost let the peck last a little longer, however she dodged away instantly.  
Fingers fumbling over her skin, over the caressed patch of snow-white skin and coming away with blue stained fingers, the same blue Steve was - almost proudly - sporting on his lips.

And that is how, Natasha ended up scowling as she entered the lunch hall, seeing a smiling Barton glance up in surprise. His eyebrows twitching at the ink on her cheek, the perfect mirror of kissing lips.

"Hey Tasha...that's an interesting look." A sneer leering at the back of his throat.

Wordlessly, she held her index finger up. "Don't-Say-Anything!"

Barton's lips froze in mid-snort upon seeing a smug looking Steve stumble into the lunch line, lips still blue. Natasha noted also, Why hadn't he rubbed it off?

MORE IMPORTANTLY, why hadn't she?

Several minutes later, Nat was in the process of disposing of a blue napkin, her skin back to its flawless complexion, when Rogers' dumped his tray at their table half-heartedly.  
Startled, both Nat and Clint looked up from their chair legs and last minute Math homework.

Clint drew his eyebrows together, still spotting the blue lips, Steve stood "Err...Hey, Rogers. You er," Barton rubbed the back of his neck "lost?"

It was no secret the Captain of the football team had multiple seats to chose from at lunch: the cheerleaders often volunteered to ditch a friend, if it meant Steve would even glance at their always unoccupied seat at the centre of the table; of course the other football players would be happy to accompany their Captain, hoping to get in Rogers' good graces so it would help their status and surprisingly, they were actually decent friends; and then there was Stark's table, occupied by Tony, Pepper, Bruce, Thor, Jane, Maria, Sam, Pietro, Wanda and several others, who besides from football friends were always within a 20 yard radius of Rogers.  
Yet he was sat here.

He pouted his lips, joining his tray by taking a seat and turning to Clint as if, he'd rehearsed this multiple times. "Nope." Natasha watched as her best friend's lips moulded around the soundless words of confusion, as he swallowed the retort rising in his throat.

Now, Steve sitting with her would have been fine, except he tried to concur the ignored; Nat and Clint were very reserved people and if there was nothing to talk about, then they would happily seat in a comfortable silence. Something about Natasha, that she thought Steve was still adjusting to, she didn't mind the quiet. However, when Bucky had been around, there was never any quiet to sit in, so of course Rogers had never noticed that detail about her.  
Bucky had and for some reason, he'd then go out of his way to fill it with laughter or seamless noise.

So, Barton, so hyped up on nerves for this evening, took pity on him and humoured his attempts at forming a substantial conversation. Whereas, Tash just sat back on two chair legs with a flick at the corner of her smirk.

 

It was 6:30 and Natasha was questioning her decision.

Tonight was the first official football match of the season. The pitch was littered with a mild layer of cold fog. Tasha was wrapped up warmly in a red coat, black hat and black gloves. Still she was freezing.  
And on top of that, she had no idea where to sit.

The Rogers couldn't make it tonight, though they had given her a lift to the game, and she'd been hoping to sit with them. But now, she had to decide between sitting alone or sitting with Steve and (bitter to admit it) Clint's friends. The group of friends was mainly filled with the girlfriends; Jane supporting Thor, Maria cheering on Sam, Wanda for her brother Pietro, Pepper, Tony and Bruce. Whilst Clint, Thor, Sam, Steve and Pietro were playing.  
Slowly, Nat breathed in a gasp of confidence before walking towards the cheering group, Pepper was just in the middle of her trash-talk to the opposing team when she saw Natasha.  
She stopped and waved her over.

"Hey, Nat! Clint told us you would be coming."

Without anything else to say, Nat smiled and sat in the space next to Potts, greeting the surrounding friends as she did so. "Will they be starting soon?"

Jane leaned forwards so her mouth was at her ear, "They should be starting any sec-" music began pouring from the speakers and the crowd leap as the team ran onto the field. Jane then proceeded to scream "GO ON SHIELD!" Causing Romanoff to flinch away from the noise with a chuckle, which erupted laughter from Bruce and Tony, who came back with bags of popcorn.

Natasha's amusement failed, as her eyes searched the running footballers. If somebody had asked, she would have stated that she was searching for Barton, but truthfully, Natasha was following the trajectory of every other single girl in that stadium. Her eyes were glued to Steve's handsome physic in that ridiculously coloured football outfit.

Her breath hitched in her throat when he saw her too, dashing his American-golden-boy smile before winking playfully. For once, Natasha was thankful for the excuse of the cold air, colouring her cheeks pink. Then, Nat followed the gangs of sheep and began cheering for their school team, something she never thought she'd ever do.

During the course of the game, Natasha was stunned to find herself not drowning in boredom. Watching her friends play was shockingly entertaining, especially when Pepper conducted her interrogation.

"Nat, you're sooo lucky!"

"Right, and er...why's that?" Romanoff gave her a schooling glaze to see if the blonde beauty had been struck round the head.

Potts giggled dreamily, "You can gawk at the players all you want without worrying about getting slapped by a bag of cotton candy." Right on cue Potts was cut off by a bag of pink, fluffy cotton candy.  
But Natasha was too fascinated with Pepper's jealousy to join in on the laughter.

"Oh yeah, like who?"

Pepper's only response was a misleading eyebrow giggle before the trajectory of her vision landed on a scoring Steve Rogers.

The crowd bursts into a fistful of flooding water as the white wash of crashing waves smashes together. The crowd ran forwards, Nat just a little too dazed to keep up, but it didn't matter as the students and supporters surrounded the players, each giving their own congratulations. Finally Natasha came face to face with a red cheeked Steve, for a second the white wash surrounding them blurs and all she can see is him. They stay stood still for what feels like forever, 2 metres apart, just staring and sharing smiles.

Coyly, Nat smiles and consoles her right hand in her left. "Nice game." Her shoulders jump slightly as he steps forward, a sneer at the ready with his eyebrows cocked.  
"Yeah, keep talking" his voice evidently turning into itself to show he's only joking. Nonetheless, Tasha chuckles and then challenges, "Though for the Quarterback, you didn't really do much..."

Steve's playfulness gains weight, showing a silver of personal from the shadows. "Oh really? Think you could do better?" Natasha shrugged, her eyes spotting a distant but approaching Barton, wearing his uniform proud, his cheeks red with pride and a little nausea.  
"Ummm, maybe not at football..." Romanoff bit into her lip in order to hold in the gasp of breath at his ridiculously cute flush of red. "Basketball on the other hand..."

Steve gaped, "Fine, you're on Red. You and I, basketball match!" Sheepishly, she stepped closer, revealing her hand to shake on it. When his fingers clasped onto hers she had to concentrate on not allowing her throat to hitch or her eyelids to flutter as she muttered "Deal."  
And then, before she could enjoy watching the heat of competition colour his eyes, Clint had lifted her into a hug. She squealed into his shoulder, hitting his back hard in congrats but also to show her loath of being lifted.


	7. Preparing for an unwanted party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this being a rather late update and again, not ended where I wanted to.  
> But I am currently writing two other news fics and trying to balance school and study/hw etc., so just be patient with me and check out my our fics when they're out! xx

As the weeks went by, Nat set into a rhythm. A pattern, dance, performance, song.

She spent her school days as usual.

Suffering through her endless lessons of boredom, eating lunch with Barton and occasionally Rogers, until one day when Clint was ill and Steve had plucked up the courage to chaperone Natasha to Stark's table.  
It was a one time event, but from then onwards, Nat and Clint knew that they'd always be welcome. She spent her weekends in solitude, drowning herself in homework whilst avoiding her parents and surrounding herself in the familiar stench of nothingness.

\- Sometimes she'd occupy Clint on a walk or stay over his, she liked his house. It was a completely different vibe from her own, so lively and active.  
Filled with noise due to Clint's younger siblings; Barney age 8 and Becky, his latest addition to the family, age 2. The Bartons had welcomed Natasha warmly, though she felt guilty for thinking it and part of the reasoning was Natasha's own fault at distancing herself from her parents, but she felt more comfortable with Clint's family than her own.  
His mother, Molly and father, Frank, were as friendly as can be. They treated her as if she were their own daughter, and though they never mentioned Natasha's donation towards Clint's lunch at school, they were extremely thankful.  
And as for Clint's siblings, they loved Natasha almost as much as - possibly more than - Clint did himself. Whenever she arrived, they clung to her like a piece of clothing. -

Regularly, when Romanoff would strut off for her morning sprint she'd be joined by a breathless Steve and somehow they'd always turn it into a competition between who got home first, somehow she always seemed to win, even though Rogers' could outrun her hands down.

As for their basketball match, it was never mentioned again.

At least, until they both found themselves a baby-sitting gig on Saturday evening.

It had been a balmy Thursday morning and Nat and Steve had abruptly halted outside their houses, both panting with sweat dripping from their skin.

"Okay-fine, you win." Nat choked from her crouched position on the lawn. Next to her Steve was gulping down water, a fresh flush of heat painting his cheeks, he smiled as he handed her his water bottle.  
Before finishing off the hydrating water she snorted "For once in your life."

He was just about to retort when he noticed a passing Mr Thomas, one of their other neighbours.

Good naturedly, Steve spoke to the man. "G'Morning Mr Thomas." The man's jog ceased as he greeted the teens.

Natasha had to hold back the eye role.

"Steve" he nodded "Natasha" for a brief second there was an awkward silence where Mr Thomas chose between continuing his jog or making casual conversation. "Haven't seen you teens in quite a while, how's the family?" Obviously there was a vivid, fat, flaming pink elephant falling from the sky, explaining why the Rogers and Romanoffs hadn't been embarking on day to day, neighbourly chit-chat. That reason going by the names of Barnes.

Without skipping a beat Steve spoke, for both of them, knowing Natasha would result to a mild growl if he forced her to talk. "Family's...good, adjusting nicely. What about you, sir?" then a pause "Oh, how's Jacob doing? He must be what, 5-6 now?" At the mention of the Thomas' youngest son, Jacob, Natasha perked up.

For a summer job Natasha had baby-sat Jacob at the beginning of the summer, and then...when Bucky had passed, she'd stopped.

"7 actually," at Steve's startled expression, Mr Thomas laughed. "He's missing his baby-sitting though," Mr Thomas' eyes turning on Nat, who smiled despite herself. She didn't know what caused her to do it, but with Mr Thomas' hopeful eyes and Steve's impressed smirk urging her forwards Natasha wondered "You know, if you ever need me to baby-sit again, just give me a ring."

And then that look, that cease of the crease in Mr Thomas' forehead, indicating that an idea had just washed over him, his smile shining brightly with relief. "Really? Because, Jenny and I were actually looking for somebody for Saturday. Last minute I know, I've got this work gala that we were originally going to miss, but if you're free, it would be a great help Natasha."

Nat fought hard to keep her smile from falling, "Oh of course, shall I come over at 5?"

He nodded smugly, and then, turning his attention back to Steve another, incredible, idea struck him. "You know, if you wanted Steve, you could always join them?"

Nat began to back paddle, "Oh, no sir, Steve really doesn't want to-"

"Actually" Rogers cut her off, flashing a daring smile "I'd love to sir, thank you." And with that, Mr Thomas saluted before returning to his steady jog, Steve calling after him as he went "We'll see you on Saturday!"

Steve turned back to Natasha, flashing his pearly-whites. Natasha did little to restrain her hiss of annoyance as he knocked shoulders with her "Looks like we just got others a baby-sitting gig."

"Yeaphee!"

 

To Natasha's annoyance, Saturday came by sooner than expected.

It wasn't that Nat didn't want to baby-sit Jacob...It's that she didn't want to baby-sit Jacob with Steve...

When she thought about it, it sounded mean, but this used to be her thing. Sure, Steve and Buck had accompanied her a few times, but truthfully this was the last thing Natasha had that was connected to before, and hadn't changed. It would be returning to a regular occurrence, a habit and for whatever reason, Natasha wanted to keep it as true to the book as possible. And having Steve with her...without Bucky...and treating her still with a slight unfamiliar distance would change it drastically. To her at least. It would rewrite something so mundane that the original memory would be erased.

Anyway, it was 5 on the dot when Nat and Steve were welcomed into the house by a glamorous draped Mr and Mrs Thomas, who bide them goodbye after going over the regular precautions that Natasha hadn't heard since her first night with Jacob. Just a precaution.

As soon as the parents had left feet sprinted across the landing and down the stairs until a pair of short arms were wrapped around Natasha's neck and she was lifting up a shouting Jacob. "NATTY!"  
Romanoff couldn't keep the giggle from escaping. She returned the hug, lifting the kid up as his legs crossed around her waist. For a second she forgot Steve was behind her until Jacob dropped from her arms and hid behind Nat, his fingers clutching the fabric of her t-shirt. He stared, unblinking at Steve. "Who are you?" Jacob asked, Nat hiding a chuckle behind her hand at the startled look in Steve's eyes and the snarl slivering from Jacob's voice.

Steve handled it brilliantly, she had to admit, after he'd registered that the kid had been addressing him in such a tone of distaste. Slowly, the tall teen crouched in front of Natasha's leg, smiling warmly at the hiding child. "Don't you remember me kiddo?" Nat was careful not to let her breath hitch in her throat with the close proximity of Steve. His breath stinging the smudge of skin exposed round her belly due to Jacob's clinging hands.  
She had to hold herself back from pulling the t-shirt down firmly, knowing she'd either cause Rogers' cheeks to set alight or an annoyingly smug smirk to decorate his handsome face. Either would be torturous.

Jacob corrected from behind Nat's thigh, revealing more of himself as he spoke. "I'm not a kid!" Sheer determination shining brightly from his small body. Steve gasped in false surprise, "Really! Well then, my apologizes young man." Steve held out his hand firmly. And Jacob was fully revealed from Natasha's leg as he shook the hand viciously.

"I'm Steve, by the way" Recognition sparked on the kid's face "Do you remember me now?" His jaw nodded violently and his mouth gaped in awe. "Stev-Stevie? Where's Bucky?" He cooed and subconsciously Natasha's eyes fluttered to the ceiling, Steve, still crouching, responded without missing a beat. "Bucky couldn't be here t'night. But he really wanted to come, you'll have to put up with me I'm afraid."

Jacob's smile flashed brightly, the ray of innocence. He took Steve's big palm in his and began to tug to the back door, leading to the garden. "That's okay..." Behind them, Nat followed after organizing herself accordingly, her arms folded with an amusement smirk plastered to her jaw.

"But" Suddenly Jacob stopped "One condition before you're allowed to baby-sit me."

"What is it buddy?"

And then, the small boy with a puff of ruffled hair spoke, clearly through the warm air, opening the door as he did so. "You have to play ball with me." Nat visibly face palmed as an idea flooded Rogers' azure orbs.  
"Of course I'll play bud, but you know what would be an even better idea?" Jacob's head turned, intrigued. "Why don't we play with Natty?"

Of course! Natasha could have easily avoided Steve's guilt trip, but with Jake, staring at her with his puppy dog eyes and pouted lip, How could she say no?

So, that is exactly how, Natasha was tricked into playing basketball against Steve.

Jacob was on her team which was both irritating and useful, because obviously Steve would go easy on the kid, but Nat wanted to beat him fair and square, without Rogers' using the excuse of "well I was going easy..."  
Anyway, they began playing and Jacob had the first shot. He scored instantly and then it was Steve's turn and then Nat's.  
And they kept repeating that until Jacob decided to add more to the game.

Steve started with the ball whilst Jake was under the net, waited for him to move. Whilst Nat ceased her opportunity, she dodged and ducked, marking Steve and trying her best to keep him from getting close to the basketball hop. She chased him hurriedly, but somehow he managed to get past her. Laughter from Jake drew awareness to the fact that he'd missed, Jake stood proudly clutching the ball and without a second to waste he chucked it to a dodging Nat, who aimed to shoot and then large hands buckled around her waist and her feet lifted off the ground.

Behind her Jacob was on the floor in hysterics as Nat whispered every curse she could concoct into Steve's ear, as oblivious as she could make herself to his beaming smile as he swung her around the patio. Not even a grain of a grimace, had you looked at his handsome face, you wouldn't have known he was lifting somebody. Then her foul mouth was replaced by laughter as she dropped the ball and a wince escaped Steve's smug lips, it had bounced off his head.

As her vision became dizzier and dizzier, Natasha closed her eyes, her head flying wildly as laughter poured from her lips and suddenly weary of her being dropped, due to her previous attempts at release, she leaned into Steve's warm, touch. The feeling of his warm bicep against her waist and then...  
They stopped.

Natasha too dizzy to stand alone, leaned against Rogers clinging to him, her fingers clasped in the fabric of his shirt. Slowly, she opened her eyes, only just trusting her vision to be steady, and saw Steve's heated hues, staring back at her. Her breath hitched once she realised how closely they were pressed, their necks reaching towards one another and their lips were about to brush against one another when a squeal of excitement sent a shiver down Romanoff's spine.

Suddenly, terrified Jacob had injured himself for whatever reason, Nat turned. Only after doing so, realising her fingers were still sealed to Steve's shirt, he ended up spinning with her, his chest slamming into her back. But Nat was preoccupied, searching.  
Relief rushed through her veins once she saw Jacob bouncing happily on the large trampoline at the back of the garden.

He waved, inviting - more demanding - them over.

Soon Natasha was swinging her legs elegantly over the trampoline and joining Jacob and the two were then followed by Steve whose added weight was abused by Jacob, who demanded to be bounced into the air every 2 minutes.

Half an hour later, after the kid had taken Natty and Stevie through an elongated tour through all of his play toys and favourite games, Natasha managed to persuade Jake to come inside and after a rushed dinner of take-away pizza - great baby-sitting meal - Natasha left Steve to occupy the lounge whilst she washed and bathed Jacob.

"Oh! Can we watch a film?" Jake squealed as he raced downstairs, making Nat chase after him. She was just preparing her stern voice when both the boys turned to face her, falling to their knees with their hands clasped together and crying "Please Natty! Please!"  
Natasha focused her glare at a smirking Rogers before picking Jake up off the floor and swinging him onto the sofa. "You pick the film, bud."

So they settled with The Lion King, though fairly dated now, it had long been Jakie's favourite. And as the film went on, Jacob was laying on Natasha's lap, holding his arm around her middle and then at some point during the film he had crawled forward until his head was resting in Steve's lap with his legs draped over Natasha, causing Steve and Nat to lean into each other and she forgot when, but her head fell, resting on his shoulder.  
Steve didn't say anything, just shifted slightly so she was comfier.

Seconds ticked off into minutes and then hours, until the film had well and truly ended and Natasha was just jarring awake. Her eyes fluttering slightly to see Steve looking down at her. It took her a few collective moments to remember where she was, she was currently waking up. In the Thomas' house, on their couch, her head in Steve's lap.  
Instead, of addressing her position on his lap she asked "Where's Jake?"

Steve seemed content where they were, resting back against the cushions, his fingers hesitating before returning to running through her silky strands of hair. "I put him to bed half an hour ago."  
At that she started forward, shocked at herself. "I should check on him." Steve looked as if he wanted to argue, but he muffled his protests. Nodding.

She returned 10 minutes later, satisfied.

She slumped back on the couch, well aware that returning to her previous position now would be crossing some sort of line. Sure, Steve may not mind if that line's crossed, however Natasha wasn't sure she was ready for that. Yet.  
And she couldn't well just stand in the middle of the lounge for 5 minutes thinking about it, so she settled next to him, close enough to touch and that when she turned her head just right, she could feel his breath in her ear.  
But no, she wasn't crossing any boundaries.

"So Jacob's pretty fond of you." Steve muttered between bites of left over pizza.

"Well I've been baby-sitting him since he was-"

"5" Steve smiled "I remember you bragging about your first ever job." She laughed in response, shaking her head. "Buck and I, we were sooooo jealous we had half a mind to walk straight to Carter's and ask for a paperboy job." Nat's laugh weakened but was still present. "Until we realised we'd have to get up at 5am EVERY day."

Nat commented, biting her lip lightly "Never used to be early risers, either of you." They sighed through the silence.

For once, it was fine. It was more than fine that there was silence, Steve wasn't pressing to fill it with pointless chatter and for once, they were talking about James calmly, neither scared that the other (Natasha) would run off into the shadows.

She stammered for a second, causing panic to rise inside of Steve's chest. It subsided when and only when she said "Thank you."

For a brief moment he was lost, staring and smiling into her beautiful green eyes, before remembering what she'd said. "For what?"

She shrugged, playing it off as a smaller deal than it was to her. "For being here." Her fingers fumbled over her knees "I know, I know you didn't have to and I know you're not here for me but..."

He shushed her quickly "Nat, I came here because I thought-Well I thought, you'd want me here. And then, I saw you didn't and" he shoved her clumsily when he saw her trying to interrupt "And it made me more determined to come. Annoy and maybe have a good time at the same time."  
She arched her eyebrows "Oh, well you'll be pleased to know that your mission failed."

His smile vanished and then she clarified, racing over her limbs to make it obvious "You didn't annoy me actually."

He flashed another competitive brow "Oh really..."

"And no Rogers! That is not a challenge, I've got Clint to annoy me all day long, I don't need you for that too." Even though she was exaggerating, there was some truth to what she was saying. Nat had Clint for her best friend, somebody she told everything to. That used to be Steve and Bucky, but it wasn't now. And truthfully, she didn't need Steve that way. She's sure, as their relationship grows (in whatever way it will) she'll become happier sharing those things. But her need for Steve, it was...deeper, somehow more personal. A link to her past, someone she hadn't been in a while and somebody she was discovering she may want to be again.

Despite not saying any of this, it was somehow conveyed through her gestures. This message came across, not in the words she'd uttered but in the silences she sung.

"Hello?" The two teens turned sharply, Steve already rising to his feet as Mr and Mrs Thomas entered the house. Both looking a lot lighter and freer than they had before leaving. The parents smiled upon seeing Natasha and Steve, happy to see them so comfortably settled, so like their old selves.

 

"Yo Sweetchizzel."

Natasha blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, keeping her head straight and scanning her eyes to the waving Barton, he was sat at a large table in the library, surrounded by Pepper, Stark, Steve, Wilson, Maria, Thor, Jane, Bruce, Wanda and Pietro who were completing varies tasks ranging from studying to gossiping. Slowly, Nat approached, carrying a range of books between her arms.

As she drew nearer she saw Steve's eyes rise slightly and stick, Romanoff blew out a puff of annoyance, she wasn't in the mood to dance around whatever this web of a relationship she had with Steve, not today, as she stood behind Clint's chair and after several seconds of his ignorance she flicked the back of his head.  
"Ouch!" Abruptly he turned.

"Well," it was difficult for Tasha's exasperated gestures to be completed with her arms full, but somehow he got the message "What do you want?"

Incredulously, he stood, attempting to take the books from her grasp. "Come on Tash, sit down." But she refrained, hurriedly drawing back from his grasp and shuffling her books in the difficult manage.  
"No."

Maybe Clint would have left it like that and let her go, had she offered an explanation or phrased it better. Perhaps had she said 'I can't I've got to return these' or maybe a simple, 'no thanks', but since she gave him nothing more than a one syllable answer, Barton was hesitant to let it slide.

"Nat, what are you talking about? Sit down, do homework, study, whatever..."

She stepped backwards, aware of the attention they were gathering. When Clint's arm clutched her shoulder, stopping her from turning further she lost her temper. "No Barton!"

He flinched, causing Nat to freeze. Feeling the surrounding peoples' eyes switching from her and the floor, especially feeling Steve's eyes staring, alert. Barton stepped closer, flush of embarrassment colouring his cheeks.  
"What's wrong Nat?"

Romanoff felt a pang of pain in her chest, Barton's hand weighing her further and further into the ground. She pulled away firmly, shaking her head once and then setting it in stone, however as her back slammed into Barton's chest he nudged forwards.  
Perhaps he was reaching for her again, perhaps he was trying to reach out for the sliver of conscious buried deep inside her chest behind the roots and vines of rooting stress.  
But whatever he planned, it had the opposite effect. Immediately Natasha tripped, catching herself after stumbling slightly, though there was a loud clatter, like a gun going off, as her books cascaded onto the floor.

Quickly an eerie silence set across the dusty library, the quiet, a rusty rich ringing in her ears. She turned, rigid to see Barton, a mild glimpse of panic within his orbs. Natasha bent, racing to get all her books. Noting how Clint reached down to help her - by this point the residents of the nearby table weren't trying to hide their...shock, whatever they felt - but Romanoff had already grabbed her things. Without missing the hurt flick of his lashes she shoved him backwards until he was no longer resting on his feet but instead sitting, as a sulky child, on the musty carpet.

Practically chucking her books at the disgruntled librarian, Nat charged. Knowing full well that every pair of eyes in that facility were glued to her.

Natasha stormed out of the library.

 

"Natasha! Dinner!"

Her feet pattered against the floorboards until she was in the dining room, her reflexes arching to defence as she spotted three placements set at the table. Checking her immediate surroundings, Natasha spun and out of the darkness stalked her father, wine glass in hand.  
Correction: out of the darkness stalked her tipsy father.

Of late he rarely, if ever, was caught sober.

Slowly Natasha sat down at the appearance of her mother, carrying in a dishwasher of plates of piping hot, steaming food. She wouldn't lie, it smelt delicious, however the mere sight of her father had her gagging, never mind the smell. But without a word, her mother loaded all plates and classes, humming cheerfully as if this were an evening tradition.  
Excuse the fact that Nat had seen her father previously this morning and counting tonight, that had been twice in three weeks.

It had been this morning's breakfast that had put Romanoff on edge. She loved her father, or at least had, before all this...this grief had-

"So Nat..." she was cut off mid-thought, by her mother "How was school?"

Nat bit her lip during deliberation. "Fine."

"Hmm" she hummed in agreement, knowing full well that was the best she'd get out of her.

For 10 suffocating minutes they sat in a silence as dry as the casserole Natasha was slowly, choking down. Her mother attempted conversation but when she noticed nobody had the heart to humour her, she settled with the stillness.  
Finally her father, showcasing that he had more than one function of refilling his wine-glass every few minutes, coughed politely, as if he were interrupting an enticingly rich conversation.

"Natasha, your birthday is coming up?" He spoke as if it were a question, though she shouldn't judge. At this state in their relationship Tasha was surprised he remembered her name. Her eyebrows drew firmly, "Yes, so you said this morning over your glass of gin."

Irritatingly obviously her mother gasped at the sting of her daughter's words to her father.

But he, like Natasha, ignored it. "Well," his tone darkened "Have you decided what you want to do?"

She shook her head, "I wasn't going to do anything this year."

"Utter nonsense! Why don't we all go out for a meal, we can invite the Rogers and...and...and the Barnes and you can invite your friends-"

"No thanks." Nat gulped in a breath of exasperation and fear.

"Why ever not, you're only 16 once Natas-"

"Maybe because I don't want to embarrass myself."

"How would you embarrass yourself?"

Natasha went to snap back, but an inclination from her mother's head held her tongue back. From the oblivious shatter of hues in her father's eyes and the no-nonsense stiffness to her mother's jaw, Nat knew she wasn't winning this battle.  
"Fine. Dinner, but I chose where and who's invited!"

Her father brightened up considerately after that, "As long as both the Rogers and Barnes are there, that's fine."

Tasha bit her lip, her teeth nagging at her lip sharply. This was going to be one hell of a birthday.

She spat in response "Fine."


End file.
